A Maiden of Rohan
by janelover1
Summary: Saffi, nineteen and looking for excitement, meets arrogant-or not-Prince Théodred. While he visits, she notices some strange happenings and investigates; as a result, Théodred fails to die at the Crossings of Isen. A tale of war, love, and coming-of-age.
1. A First Glimpse

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my happy village and the people in it. Everything else is property of J. R. R. Tolkien.

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**PART I**

_"Some work of noble note may yet be done" (Tennyson)_

* * *

I sighed and set the empty feed buckets on the stable floor. After spending the whole pre-dawn morn tending the horses in the dark and sweaty stables, I was ready to take a break. Not that I don't like horses. This is the Riddermark, after all, not just any realm of Men. I went outside and leaned against the stable wall, letting the wind whip around me and cool me off; because the Riddermark (Rohan in Westron, the common tongue) is so flat, there's always some sort of wind blowing.

I live in a small village called Alricsloft, named after its founder. You guessed it: a guy named Alric decided he wanted to build a house here and from there things kind of snowballed. Alric is actually my twenty-five times great-grandfather. Anyway, there's only about thirty families here—a hundred and twenty-odd people—, so everybody knows everybody else and everyone is related somehow. It can get annoying (gossip runs rampant and it's hard to keep any secrets), but I also like knowing that the entire village has my back, so to speak; if someone gets sick, then nearly everybody sends things to help them get better. We're a tight-knit community, and since we live on the western edge of the Mark, we don't get many outsiders.

My father, Soren Eriksson, owns the largest stable here, or rather, the only stable proper (most house their horses in the barn). Although most families own at least one horse, my father has a large herd. He breeds and sells horses and rents out his extensive lands to tenants to farm. A lot of people from the village work for my father. He's a strict taskmaster, but he knows his horses, which is why people from all over the Mark and even beyond come here for business.

"Hey, Saffi, are you all right?" A kind voice interrupted my reverie—Sodred. He's tall, with light brown hair interlaced with blonde streaks cut at his shoulders (which is where every boy and man in the Mark seems to have his hair cut). Sodred is my older brother, but I don't think we look much alike. I'm short for an Eorling, and my hair is a dark brownish-gold. Sodred looks more like our father only nicer.

I turned to Sodred. "I just finished mucking out the stables ALL BY MYSELF even though SOMEONE was supposed to be helping me. Where have you been?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I was at the tavern with some of the guys…"

"Was Anwyn there?" I teased.

"Yes… Oh, Saffi, she's so beautiful! Strong, yet delicate; fierce, yet gentle; and she's graceful and pretty and—"

I boxed him lightly round the ears before his eyes had completely glazed over. "Hey, save it for someone who cares!" I couldn't help laughing, though. My brother had it bad for Anwyn, the prettiest girl in the village. Her parents owned the village tavern. "Father's been looking for you," I warned, "so go be a good boy."

Sodred rolled his eyes at me and then sauntered off to the house. I watched him go for a minute. I rather envied him: handsome, easy-going, and Father's favorite. But he's one of my best friends, and it's impossible to not like him—he thinks the best of everyone.

I went round the stables, passing the training yards as I did so. Several hostlers shouted out greetings, and I waved back. I kept going, weaving my way past houses and farms until I was out on the flat grasslands, away from everyone else. I had gone about a mile or so when I got to my favorite spot. Here grew perhaps the only tree on the plains of Westfold. It was giant, several hundred feet high and at least that many feet in width. I climbed it until I was far off the ground.

I could see for miles, tucked as I was among the leafy branches. I could see my house and the village, the surrounding farms. It was late summer, and it was hot, unbearably so if not for that delicious wind. Even though it wouldn't be harvest time for another few weeks, there was less greenery than usual. It hadn't been a good year for crops. There had been few rains, much widespread blight, and even a few raids, mostly Dunlendings from homesteads in the north and west that had been destroyed by orcs or other foul beings.

I shivered at the thought, and unbidden a haunting note strove into my musings: _The Shadow from the East is spreading._ I had heard the phrase from a lone trader passing through (he had been telling my father why he would not come again), but though I had no idea what he meant, the words had wedged themselves into my mind. I could feel something in the wind; the air from that direction seemed to bring blight and sickness. Father thought it was an old wives' tale. But looking to the east from my perch, I thought I could almost see the air darken slightly.

But what was that? I leaned forward to see better. A column of dust rose from the plain; riders were headed to Alricsloft.

Was it the tradesmen from Gondor come at last? Because of increased dangers, less and less people had been coming to my father's stables for horses over the last few years. (Except for the strange men who hid their faces; they took every black horse there was and disappeared, and somehow even my father had been unable to turn them away. He had looked worried then, even scared. But the look had been so fleeting, and his face had returned to its usual set so quickly, that I wondered sometimes if I had just imagined it.)

I scanned the dust column; things glinted. Metal—they had weapons… Did this bode well or not? I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding when I saw the flags they bore; the white horse on a green backdrop, the sign of the house of Eorl, stood large and clear on them. So in name at least they were friends. There looked to be about forty men, a third of the size of the village. Our tavern was not nearly big enough to house them all. Where would they stay? The leaders could probably stay at my father's house, seeing as he was the local landlord. But what about the rest? I clambered down quickly; I had to warn others so that we would not look grossly unprepared.

I ran back to the house, hot and slightly dizzy from sprinting while planning out the housing of some forty-odd soldiers who were probably used to being treated as lords of some kind. When I got inside, I went straight to the housekeeper.

"Ama? Ama? Where's Ama?" I called out. Tobíen directed me to the kitchens. "Ama," I panted, "there's a troop of Rohan's finest headed this way."

She laughed. "How many?"

"I'm not sure. About forty, from the looks of it."

She blinked. "Forty? Where are they going to sta—oh, I see. What arrangements did you have in mind, exactly?"

"Well, there's probably the two captains plus six officers; that's the usual arrangement for a group of that size. So that eight could stay here, since father is the local landlord and it's better conditions than the tavern. All could berth their horses in our stables; they're big enough. The other men might be able to be housed in the tavern… and the empty tenant homes nearby—you know the ones? That we built, and then they went north? Then the tavern could still service them all without being overcrowded. Should probably go for a third or less of the usual prices, though, if they are soldiers of the Mark; perhaps a blanket fee at the end? I'm not sure about that part. But I'll go get the homes ready for them… So if you could ready, say, eight chambers? Thanks, Ama!"

I turned to go when she caught my arm and said kindly, "Well done, Saffi. Your mother would be proud of your quick thinking, dear."

I blushed. "Thanks, Ama." If only Father felt that way.

* * *

Two hours' worth of hectic cleaning and primping later, the column of soldiers swept in. Sodred had told Father, so he promptly went out to greet them after waiting the necessary seven seconds to make it look like he hadn't been expecting anyone. We had barely finished readying all the necessary beds when Father had swept in and demanded for me to be clothed properly—i.e. put on a dress instead of the long tunics and boyish clothes I prefer. Sodred and I followed in Father's wake, with me trying to look the part of the dutiful daughter.

_I have to play hostess_, I realized with a start. Mother had died giving birth to me, but since the only official visitors we got were tradesmen who didn't care about strict social niceties, I had never really had to act as hostess. I tried not to let my apprehension show.

The two captains dismounted directly in front of our open gate, followed by five officers. _Well, I hadn't been too far off in my estimations._ I didn't listen very hard while they exchanged form greetings with my father. Father turned and introduced Sodred and then welcomed them to the village. The captain on the left glanced at me curiously, which was understandable seeing as I had just been ignored by my parent. I thought I would die from embarrassment there and then, but fate was not so kind. Instead, the captain asked my father who the 'lovely lady' was; he smirked widely when my father turned back and actually noticed me. I bit my lip to keep myself from blushing too hard and forced myself to look ahead instead of at the ground, which suddenly seemed very interesting. Father glanced over at me with surprise and then said, "This is my daughter Saffi. I was not expecting to see her here; usually she runs off and hides with the servants when I get visitors."

I hadn't done that since I was ten. My cheeks turned red, but I got in a proper curtsy all the same and tried to pretend that I didn't see the soldiers laughing and whispering about me.

"It is a pleasure to welcome you to our home, sirs." I took a deep, steadying breath, then motioned for Tobíen (and the gaggle of stable-boys always following) and for Anders. They stepped forward. "Tobíen here" (he bowed) "will look after your mounts, and Anders will help your men move their packs to rooms of their choosing. We would be delighted to have you and your men sup in our hall tonight." Had I covered everything? I couldn't say outright that we had their sleeping arrangements under control, but I had to let them know somehow.

The captain on the left smirked again while the one on the right (the one with manners!) said, "We thank you most humbly, gracious lady." There was a long pause. Finally he nodded at my father and said, "May my friend and I come inside to discuss some business with you?" I could have sunk onto the ground from shame. My father couldn't even remember to ask these Captains of the Mark inside!

Father agreed (the word business makes him very agreeable) and led the captains to the house. Sodred stepped forth and became immediate friends with the officers before asking them inside with him. They went in, leaving me alone with the other thirty-three men. I blinked. Was this always done? No, I was supposed to accompany Father inside, but he had not asked me, which meant I was stuck here. I looked up. Thirty-three pairs of eyes were fixed on me. I sighed.

"I do apologize for our occasional lapses in propriety," I said. "We are an isolated village and unused to such visits as these. If you could just follow Tobíen and Anders, they will take care of your horses and lead you to your … uh, the dwellings prepared for you."

To my relief, they did just that, and within the half hour, I was alone at the gate. I leaned on it with a sigh of relief. _Thank goodness that's over._

"If you are really so isolated, how did you get word of our coming?"

I turned around. It was the captain who had asked my father for my name, and he was smirking. Again. I didn't remember his name; I hadn't really been listening when they had introduced themselves.

"Oh, that's what the village hedge-witches are for, milord," I said. I had no patience for this man and his smug smirks of derision. "Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go do… I don't know, come up with a meal plan or something else womanly." Whoops. I hadn't meant to say THAT out loud. Just what I needed, another excuse for this captain to mock me and my family.

But the man wouldn't let me get past, holding my arm firmly. "What if I don't excuse you?" he murmured. He had a smooth baritone voice, just a trifle deeper than normal, and his eyes were the clearest blue. He was tall and muscular, unlike the other captain, who was tall but lean. I'd guess that the captain now manhandling my arm was about forty, a young forty, though. He looked as though he could handle a rough life but usually didn't have to. He might have been considered handsome if he wasn't so rude; many village girls would probably be mooning over him tonight. Yuck.

I scowled and freed myself with a quick blow to his arm; no one touched me and got away with it, as several traders had learnt all too well. "Sir, please excuse me," I repeated, making it clear that I wasn't asking a question. Who did this guy think he was, the prince of Rohan? "I need to make sure that your rooms are ready so you don't have to sleep outside in the dirt. Unless, of course, that is what you wish…" He was silent for a moment, then moved and let me pass without saying a word. Jerk.

* * *

As night drew on I grew increasingly nervous. I was going to have to eat with my father. And that arrogant captain. I couldn't decide which prospect was more unappetizing, being ignored or being mocked. I did pay some attention to my appearance, though. Manners or not, company was still _company_ and thus could not be ignored.

I stepped out of my room carefully. The dress was a trifle too long—it had been my mother's, and I had never felt the urge to alter many of her old dresses—so I had to watch not to trip over it. I set off down the hallway, but stopped short when I turned the corner. It was captain jerk-face. He was looking at a portrait on the wall. I tried to retreat, but no such luck. My foot caught and I tripped. I managed to catch myself on the doorframe before I fell, but the noise alerted him to my presence.

"Are you all right?" he asked, hastening over to my side. Great. What I wanted to reply was 'leave me alone'.

"I'm fine. I just…" _need to get away from YOU?_ What could I have said? There was no way I was going to confess that I had nearly tripped over my own skirt. "Well, got to be going! So if you will excuse me…" I said brightly. Before he could reply, I fled the scene.

* * *

The hall was full of hustle and bustle as our servants put the finishing touches on the settings. I went up to the dais. I hated sitting there; it felt like holding up a big sign that said I'M BETTER THAN YOU ARE. Rynis handed me the place cards, adding, "Ama said this was the hostess' job."

Oh, dear. I leafed through them and realized to my horror that our guests, the two captains, were none other than PRINCE THÉODRED and LORD ÉOMER.

Unfortunately, my first thought was, 'Which one's the jerk?' I turned around to leave; no matter what Ama thought, I truly needed help on this one.

Only to find captain jerk right behind me. "Sorry," he smirked. "I didn't know how to get down here, so I followed you."

I managed to school the panic out of my features. "It's … fine, my lord." I couldn't be more specific since I had no idea what his name was. This was definitely a problem. Please don't let him be the prince, I thought.

"Are those the place cards?" he asked. This wasn't my day, was it?

I could think of nothing else to say but "Yes, my lord." I cringed inwardly at my words. They sounded like something a brainless twit would say, not someone whose name meant wisdom. I tried to say something pleasant. "Would you like to be placed next to your friend or on my father's other side as is custom?"

"I will follow the custom, I suppose." I set down the three place cards. Remaining were mine and my brother's. My mind raced; I had no idea who he was, so there was only a fifty-fifty chance I would not be near him. If I accidentally put myself near him, I would be stuck. If I accidentally put myself next to the prince, it would look like matchmaking. "If you would excuse me, I need to find the housekeeper."

This time, he let me pass. I had already gotten to the kitchens when I realized that I had left the place cards behind. I went back.

Jerk-face was gone, but someone had set up the cards. I was placed next to the prince. Oh, no. I moved to change the seating, to what I don't know, but it didn't matter. There was a flourish and people began entering. Father motioned me to his side. There was no way I could change the seating arrangements now. I could already tell that this evening was not going to end well.

* * *

A/N: As you probably have guessed by now, this story is alternate universe; I have made a few major adjustments to the canon and went from there. Beyond what the summary says, one major change is that I brought Éomer along for the ride to the Fords of Isen, not for any particular reason beyond simply that he's grown on me :)

When I'm not mangling canon to fit my original storyline, I'm sticking to book-verse. The Rohirrim speak Old English, and their culture (or at least my impression of it) is a mixture of Anglo-Saxon and Nordic/Scandinavian. As such, the names are either Old English, Scandinavian, or sounding close enough to either to satisfy me. For example, the (revised) name of the village is from putting together Alric and loft (homestead).


	2. Missteps Abounding

Disclaimer: So Tolkien owns everything except the little village of Alricsloft and everyone in it. Obviously.

* * *

I was right: the night didn't go well. Things only got worse. You see, the arrogant captain happened to be the HEIR TO THE THRONE. Blamed for matchmaking AND stuck next to the rudest man I had ever met, that's me. I wanted to go back to my room and hide there, but Sodred refused. All I could think coherently was, _Why me? Why couldn't the stupid prince visit some other tiny village? Why did my life have to get so complicated?_

It didn't help that Father, upon seeing the arrangements, turned to jerk-fa—sorry, the prince—and apologized for him being stuck next to—how did he put it?—"my foolish daughter. I don't know where she learned her manners; she runs wild everywhere and shows no sense." Ouch. Thanks a lot. And you know what the prince did? He LAUGHED.

I will not go in to details for the horrible night. Bad enough I had to live through it once. Suffice to say that he ignored me the entire night and instead made fun of me with my FATHER, always asking questions about what I was like as a child ("she ran around barefoot") or what kind of things I liked to do ("play with the servants" and "behave like a lad of ten rather than a maiden of eighteen").

After the feasting had ended, my father dismissed me, saying the men needed to speak alone. At any other time I would have felt insulted to be excluded thus, but right now I was grateful for any means to end the embarrassment.

I went to my room and changed out of the dress. All that work looking nice for nothing. Never again, I vowed. I put on my normal shirt, skirt, and breeches,* grabbed my pack, and headed outside. My shortcut out passed near the window to father's study. I was about to sneak past under the sill when voices caught my attention.

"So you are off to protect our western border towns?" It was Father.

I made to keep going. Who cared what the prince was going to do?

"Are you going to fight orcs and rescue fair maidens and all that?" It was Sodred, teasing as usual.

"I don't know about rescuing fair maidens. Although you seem to have at least one right here…" That was… the prince? Odd. I hadn't thought he'd had time to go down to the tavern and see Anwyn. She must have been visiting a friend when my brother was showing his newfound buddies around our house.

Whatever. I kept going. Their voices faded in the distance as I made my way through the fields to my tree. It was bit far in the darkness, but I needed some alone time. And it wasn't like anyone would notice that I was gone. I spread out my things, but sleep eluded me. The prince kept popping up into my mind with that mocking grin on his face. Blech… Then I finally slipped off into oblivion.

* * *

I awoke as the sun rose, then sat up and stretched, sore from all the running around yesterday and sleeping on the ground. As I stood blearily and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I couldn't help but think about the reason I was out here at all. Yesterday… ugh, yesterday was a day I really didn't want to remember. And it had started out so well; Ama had been planning my cake and everything. Today was my nineteenth birthday, and Ama had promised me something special for 'such a special day,' as she had called it. Between the frantic planning and the almost continuous shaming, I had completely forgotten. "Happy birthday, me," I mumbled. Happy birthday indeed.

After bathing in the small pond nearby quickly (even though it was late summer, the water had never really warmed up) and washing my hair, I was finally ready to face the day. My hair was braided back as usual and still rather damp, but the day's heat would dry it out in no time.

I was just about to enter the maze of lanes between the farms that surrounded my house when suddenly a horse rounded the bend at full gallop. Instinctively I jumped and rolled out of the way, just in the nick of time. I sat up and groaned; my hair was filthy, and I had just washed it! Oh, well. Hopefully no one would really notice if I kept it back. Hopefully.

"Are you alright, miss?" The rider had slowed his horse and was coming back down the narrow lane. Then he seemed to recognize me. "Lady Saffi, are you hurt?"

I looked up to see who had tried to kill me. Just my luck. The rider who had nearly killed me was the prince. Did he have a personal vendetta against me or something? I knew he didn't like me, but did that mean he had to try to kill me as well?

"I am PERFECTLY fine," I announced, brushing myself off and standing. The prince dismounted. Why—to finish me off? "No, no, no," I said, forgetting in my anger that I was addressing the heir to the realm. "You've already nearly killed me once. Just stay where you are. I am perfectly fine; nothing's hurt except my pride; so just STAY AWAY and LEAVE ME ALONE." I picked up my knapsack and turned to go, but once again that idiot prince grabbed my arm! Who did he think he was? Right, the Prince of Rohan. Scratch that question. But still, his title definitely didn't give him an excuse to act like a jerk!

I turned around and growled through clenched teeth, "Please unhand my arm." He laughed slightly, and his grip tightened. "Please?" He still held on. Stupid man had yet to take me seriously. "Please let go of me NOW," I warned.

He refused, saying, "Come now, Miss Saffi, stay a bit longer." He gave me a hot look that I was probably supposed to find appealing; instead all I could think of was that one trader with the wandering hands... It was the last straw. THIS was how my birthday was going to start?

I kneed him in the groin. Looking back on this, it was probably a bad idea. But it had the results I'd intended; the prince let go of my arm and doubled over, falling to his knees in pain. _Now that's better._

"Next time someone tells you to let go of her, DO IT," I told him smilingly. Then I turned and stalked off towards home.

* * *

I had been right. I wandered into the house and no one, not even my brother, had noticed that I had been gone for the entire night. The only person who got close was Ama, who said, "What happened to you, deary? You look you slept outside or something!" I gave a fake laugh and changed the subject.

My birthday celebrations, meager as they were—they were always just me, my brother, and the servants—would have to wait until a later date. Not that I minded. I didn't want my friends trying to make me presents AND take care of forty-odd guests. And I definitely didn't want that stupid prince anywhere near, either.

I asked everyone I saw if I could help in any way, but no one would let me. Apparently I wasn't supposed to be helping servants when guests might see. _What am I to do now?—besides staying out of others' ways, _I groused, feeling very bad for myself. I went to the stables, dark and quiet and horsey. But even there people were busy, tending the warriors' mounts and cleaning their tack. I supposed I could go to the tree, but it meant that I would have to sit still.

Since there was nowhere else even remotely secluded, I retreated to my room and fished out the target. Then I practiced throwing daggers. Here in the Riddermark, girls are trained in weaponry right alongside the boys. Most villages, Alricsloft included, are too far away to get immediate help from the king's Riders, so we have to be able to defend ourselves in a pinch. Don't get me wrong: women aren't part of the army or anything. But it is our duty to defend the home, so we know a thing or two about fighting.

* * *

The day passed with me holed up in my room. I refused to admit to myself that I was avoiding anyone (namely, a certain regal jerk). Once the heat of my panicky anger had faded, I started getting second thoughts about the whole let's-injure-my-sovereign's-son thing. As dinner once again drew near, I got nervous. What if the prince punished my family for what I had done to him? I didn't want Sodred to get hurt because of something his stupid younger sister had done in a flash of spitefulness and anger.

There was a knock at my door. It was Sodred. I opened the door a crack, just enough to say, "Go on without me. I don't feel well."

He looked at me with concern. "Saffi, his Highness isn't angry at you, if that's what you're worried about. Though heaven help me as to what you did if you're hiding from him."

I blinked. "How do you know he's not angry?"

Sodred rolled his eyes. "Because he told me so! He specifically said that he wasn't angry with you."

"When? Did he say this last night or this morning after he went out riding?" I was hedging my bets.

"Last night. Why?" Sodred looked at me suspiciously. "What did you DO, Saffi?"

"Nothing," I said, finishing silently, _without being provoked into doing it_. What my brother didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "Go, Sodred! You're going to be late. And I really don't feel well, all right? It's just a cold; I just need some rest, and I'll be fine in the morning." At this Sodred gave a reluctant nod and left.

Once I was sure the guests had dispersed after supper, I crept down to the kitchens and got myself a bite to eat. But afterwards, even as the stars climbed higher and higher, I couldn't sleep. Truth be told, I felt a little guilty about the way I had treated the prince. Sure, he was rude, but he hadn't deserved to be kneed, at least not quite so hard. After all, he hadn't  
actually done anything—at least, not yet. But even then I had no proof he even was about to do anything, and really why was I insinuating such bad behavior from someone I didn't even know?...

And so my birthday ended as it began: uncomfortably.

* * *

*In case you were wondering, breeches under the skirt. Just in case the skirt gets hung up and she needs to ditch it.


	3. New Perspectives

Disclaimer: I don't own the country, the culture, the romantic interest... *sobs* I don't own _anything_... No, I own the village Alricsloft and the people inside. And, of course, our heroine Saffi.

* * *

The next morning I waited until everyone had gone down to breakfast. I had spent most of the morning writing, making sure that my note for the prince was not forgiving him for his actions, but rather an apology for the severity of mine. Since I wasn't planning on being seen by anyone, I didn't bother putting a skirt on over my breeches. (And they were pretty baggy anyway, since the pair in question technically belonged to my brother.)

I got up from my desk and peered out the door. The hallway was devoid of life. Just to be safe, I snuck down using the servants' stairs to the dining room where my father, my brother, and the seven officers were eating. The prince was there, his back facing me. I knew it was him, though; no one else had hair quite that shade of golden blonde. Then I hurried back upstairs.

The hallway was deserted. I crept down it soundlessly toward the prince's rooms. The door was ajar. Odd. I could have sworn the prince had closed it when going down to breakfast.

I crept in. Luckily, as it turned out, the door failed to squeak. I put it back in its original position and went through the front sitting room to the bedroom itself. Then I froze in the doorway.

There stood a man, wearing the outfit of a visiting warrior, who was leafing silently through the prince's belongings. This could not be good. I backed away into the front room and looked frantically around for a place to hide. The screens! They were always provided as a sleeping area for a personal servant; though they were thin, they would have to suffice. I ducked behind them and tried to slow my racing heart. _Silent breath in, silent breath out…_ Through the slight gap where the screen's joints met, I scanned the room before me, watching and waiting for the man in the other room to appear.

I had hidden just in time. The man whipped out of the room, scowling and muttering angrily to himself, "Where could that damn parchment be?" Obviously his search had been unsuccessful. As soon as he had cleared the room, I jumped out from my hiding place and peered out. The hallway was deserted—no, wait, that was him! As the figure rounded the corner, I tucked the note into my pants. No time for that now. I had a mystery to solve!

I followed the man through the maze of hallways that led to the main entrance, the side one on the west wing. For the most part, he used the regular hallways, which meant he probably didn't know the servant passages. That was good. We passed a few servants (whom I had to hide from for fear they would reveal me), but no one took a second glance at him. In two days we had already gotten used to seeing fighting men wandering in and out of the house.

When we reached the exit, I realized to my dismay that there were no good hiding places left outside. Horse Lords, now how was I supposed to figure out where he was staying? I'd have to wait for more clues. At least I'd gotten a good look at the man's face; I would recognize him if I saw him again. But what could I do in the meantime?

I could go see what he'd been looking at. With this thought in mind, I raced back through the house to our sleeping quarters.

Only to barrel into one of the last men I wanted to see right now.

"Saffi, where do you think you're going? Why are you dressed in that god-awful outfit? And where were you at breakfast? His Highness asked about you!"

"Father…" The prince had asked about me? Of course; the one person who did not like me was the only one to notice my absence. No, I was not being fair—Sodred had probably noticed but had passed it off because of my 'sickness' from last night.

Someone came down the hallway behind Father. I swallowed hard. It was the prince. What could I say to him? Should I say anything at all? And what about the spy in the prince's bedroom?

Before Father could greet the prince and shoo me off, I gathered my courage and stepped forward. "My lord," I managed to choke out.

He looked down at me and, pausing, opened his mouth but then closed it again, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"I…I wanted to give you this," and before he could leave, I dug around in my breeches pocket for the note. It was slightly torn and wrinkled, but there was nothing else for it. I stuck the sorry-looking piece of parchment under his nose. He blinked and then took it.

There was a dreadful silence as both my father and myself waited, frozen, to see what the prince's reaction would be. Surely he must have finished the note by now… The seconds ticked by; finally I couldn't bear it any more.

"Father, my lord," bowing slightly towards each. And before either could reply, I slipped into my room.

* * *

At lunch, I nipped down to the kitchens and grabbed a quick bite to eat before heading back upstairs. I found a spot on the second floor balcony surrounding the hall where I could see all the seats without being seen myself. Perfect. Now all I had to do was wait until dinner. I couldn't go snooping in the prince's rooms, because the last time I had checked, he had been in them.

To occupy my time, I went outdoors, this time out the front gate and through the village. On the other side were… you guessed it, open plains. I set up a makeshift target and practiced my shots. I couldn't brag about being a great hand at archery or sword fighting (I could beat most boys in the village but barely held my own against the experienced men), but I was really good at close combat. Give me a dagger or two and I could do pretty well against an experienced swordsman.

Today I practiced archery and throwing daggers. I had gotten another perfect bull's-eye with one of my favorites when I sensed someone near. Whoever it was walked extremely quietly; I hadn't heard him until he was almost on top of me. In fact, I hadn't so much as heard him as sensed his presence. My mind filled with dread; was it the spy from this morning? Had he somehow spotted me?

Instinctively, I whirled around in a crouched fight stance, a dagger in each hand and ready to do battle.

The person backed away with hands in the air, saying, "Whoa, whoa, I'm not going to touch you."

It was the prince.

"Oh. It's you." I returned the daggers to the arm sheaths I wore under my shirt. I usually didn't wear them, but after what had happened this morning, I had decided on extra precautions.

"You … carry daggers?"

"You noticed, huh?" I couldn't keep myself from grinning at my own folly. In my paranoia I had almost sliced up the heir apparent to the Riddermark's throne, and it was the one time he hadn't actually done anything to me. (Yet.) _Good going, Saffi._

I looked up at him, really looked at him properly. He didn't have a bad face—I mean, he didn't actually look mean the way I had seen some merchants look, their expressions radiating malice. The prince appeared to be more one of those spoiled types than actually cruel. Maybe I had overreacted. Maybe. Yeah, and maybe I was a goddess in disguise. He needed to get over his pride, and I could definitely help him there. At this thought, I had to suppress an evil chuckle at the kind of 'lessons' I would give.

"Your note…" He trailed off, looking rather unsure of himself.

"I do apologize for the severity of my actions," I said. Suddenly I thought of the spy. Should I tell the prince? Nah. I didn't know enough yet. He would probably just scoff at such imaginings of a rustic village girl.

"We missed you last night. And at breakfast," he added softly.

Now what was that supposed to mean? Especially since as far as I could tell, no one ever really noticed my absences except for Sodred. "I was a trifle indisposed at the time," I replied smoothly. "But after our encounter this morning, I find that my ailments have been alleviated somewhat."

"Enough to be present at dinner tonight?" He looked nervous but eager… kind of like a puppy. I quickly banished such thoughts.

"I'm afraid I will not be able to attend tonight. I have … other business to attend to."

"More important than entertaining your highborn guests?" he asked, smiling. But not smirking. This was a small, but honest, smile. He looked rather nice when he smiled properly.

"Yes, actually. I need…" I needed a plan. I wrenched my dagger from the target and went back to where I had left my bow. The prince trailed behind. I turned around abruptly, so abruptly that he almost walked into me. "Are you going to just keep following me around like this?"

"Maybe," he said lightly. "You see, I've already checked up on those of my men who were wounded last week, and I was chased out of the sickroom by your housekeeper."

I grinned. "Ama's very protective of us all."

"You call your servants by name?" I could hear the shock evident in his tone.

"Indeed. What, you don't?"

"No."

"Why not? Do have so many that you do not know any by sight? Or is it that you believe they are your inferiors and you treat them as such?" I knew that I was overreacting, but for some reason the idea of him acting so uppity got to me. Or maybe it was because this seemed to be yet another example of his annoying pride. He was the crown prince of the land, (he thought) he was a ladies' man, he didn't know every servants' name… Yeah, I had definitely overreacted about that last bit. I waited for him to bite back.

To my astonishment, he sat down on the ground and sighed, running a hand over his head absentmindedly. He looked almost… nice. But of course, it was not to last. "I… I guess I never really pay them that much attention." I blinked. He didn't pay them any attention? Names could possibly be excused (possibly), but this? "Why are you looking at me like that? It's not like I need to talk to them; they're just servants!"

That did it. "What kind of a prince are you, anyway?" I demanded. It seemed that once again my brain had decided to turn off its filter and just spew all of my secret thoughts at once. "You don't even know the people who have spent their lives taking care of you? Isn't that what a good king is supposed to do? —he pays attention to his people so that he can take care of them, not just live off the products of their labors."

He was staring at me openmouthed. I flushed. "Fine, forget what I said. I'm just a stupid girl living in some forsaken village. I'm used to people forgetting what I say, anyway, so it's not like you'll hurt my feelings. Not, apparently, that you really care that much." I seethed inwardly. Everything nice I was starting to think, well, I was taking it back. Obviously the lonely-puppy look was just a way to get people to feel sorry for him. Inside though, he was what I had seen all along, a royal jerk!

I threw the dagger straight and true. It sailed into the target with a satisfying THWOK noise. Without looking at him, I went off to retrieve it. When I stomped back, the prince had left.

* * *

When the dinner-bell rang down in the kitchens to signify the meal would soon begin, I was more than ready to do some snooping of my own. The prince and his Riders would be heading out tomorrow to go fight some orcs. (After some quick negotiation, the village had agreed to continue housing and caring for the warriors in between campaigns. In return, the warriors would pay for their room and board and do what they could to help out on the village farms. This had actually been my suggestion, but since Father refused to let me in on such 'manly matters,' as it were, I had written out the plan for my brother to submit. I'm sure that the villagers present had recognized my handwriting, because soon after they kept congratulating me on my wise thinking.)

So tonight was the last chance I would get to figure out what the spy was after before the men set out. I would have to be quick. As soon as the officers, captains, and my father and brother had begun eating in the dining parlor, I set off to the prince's room to investigate.

I went first for the prince's pack. Rummaging through the papers, I found nothing out of the ordinary: a map of the Mark, a letter to his father… I went looking elsewhere. The prince's personal documents were wedged under the mattress. I rolled my eyes. Lucky that the spy wasn't very good, else the prince's private papers would be dissected and memorized long before now. I leafed through the documents. Hmm… this was where he wrote out his battle plans. Nothing had been disturbed, so I slid the sheets back under the mattress.

There was nothing more I could do for now but keep an eye out for the spy. _I really should warn the prince_, I thought uneasily. But would he listen? And more importantly, would he believe me enough to take care of the documents while out crusading?

* * *

I went down to the kitchens as dinner was finishing, grabbing some dishes and washing them. Some people were putting away the leftover food, while others like me were washing and drying dishes. I saw Elise, my best friend and the only one I had who was actually about my age (brothers don't count).

"Saffi!" she exclaimed. "Why aren't you eating with your guests?"

I shrugged. She read my silence as 'avoiding the prince'. Apparently it was all over the village that the prince and I had got into an argument of some kind, though luckily no one knew the details.

"You can't hide forever," she teased. "Especially when the man in question is so handsome and clearly interested in you!"

"Like I should believe you. This is coming from the person who told me that I should try going out with Belden!" Belden had recently become the village cobbler, and he wanted a traditional stay-at-home wife. Which I would definitely NOT be.

"I said to give him a chance, not marry him," Elise scoffed.

"Oh, I gave him a chance," I retorted. "Three seconds was plenty enough time!"

We washed dishes and teased each other as usual. Ama, as our housekeeper and head cook, kept an eagle eye over the proceedings as usual. She spotted me right off but didn't say anything until the cleanup was over, knowing after long years of battles that I wasn't about to leave just because she said so.

When everyone had finished putting away plates and wiping down tables, they gathered around in the kitchen. I was confused. Shouldn't my friends be going home?

I said as much, and Elise laughed. "You didn't honestly think we forgot, did you?"

"Forget what?" I was confused. Everyone's face was lit up with excitement and anticipation. "What did I miss?"

"Your birthday, silly," Anders said affectionately, pretending to cuff my head for such a silly mistake. Anders is about fifty, and his hair is silvery gray; I guess his official title would be steward.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to celebrate last night, Saffi," Ama added. "But we're going to party tonight!"

And we did. It was turning out not to be such a bad birthday week after all. There was dancing and cake and merriment all around, and soon I had been able to forget all my fears about our visitors and properly enjoy myself.

We were about to start the fourth or fifth dance set when the room suddenly fell silent. I turned to the door to see the prince looking rather sheepish.

He looked as though he was trying to decide what to do next. Then his eyes fell on me. "Lady Saffi?" I didn't move. I noticed that my friends were not bowing as deeply as was proper; in the kitchens, the only ruler was the head cook. But then the prince surprised me—the first time, but definitely not the last. The man always seemed to reveal a different side of his character each time we met.

"I didn't mean to interrupt." He was addressing not just me, but the servants all around me. Silence reigned. "I just came down to get a glass of water. I am very sorry."

Had he just… apologized? To servants?

The prince turned to leave. For some reason, I took pity on him, tugging at Ama's sleeve. She took the hint.

"Wait, your Highness." He turned, puzzled. Ama continued, "We are celebrating Saffi's nineteenth birthday. Care to join us?"

A pause…

And then the music swept back up and everyone went back to laughing and eating and dancing or whatever else they'd been doing, leaving me and the prince staring at each other next to the doorway. (Ama's knowing looks probably had something to do with it.)

And now Ama herself had somehow disappeared. I drew a deep breath. "Would you like some cake?"

A hint of a smile touched his face. "No thank you, Lady Saffi. – You are truly blessed to have such friends."

"My friends are too kind," I replied. "And… thank _you_ for actually treating them with some respect."

He smiled a bit wider this time. "Even a fool like me knows when he has been proven wrong."

I smiled back. I was high on joy, not thinking straight, so I can't really explain my next action: I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the circle of dancers.

"Lady Saffi, I really don't think… I haven't danced since I was a boy," he admitted.

"Come on! It'll be fun. All you have to do is try, and I won't make fun of you too badly if you mess up."

And then he danced. He was surprisingly graceful on his feet, more graceful than I, for though I was light on my feet I somehow forgot the steps whenever he came near. We all danced, and for that glorious evening our past blunders all faded away; we were all one giant happy group of friends making merry.

But eventually the party had to end. People began to trickle off. Then the musicians dispersed, the empty food platters were left to soak in the sink, and the prince and I reluctantly headed out the door.

"Lady Saffi," the prince said, startling me out of my musings.

"Hm—what?"

"Thank you for letting me join you tonight."

I looked up at him. He was still ridiculously proud of his station (and he was the PRINCE, after all—it was a station to be proud of), but neither was he the arrogant jerk that I had thought. Prince Théodred was actually, when he wanted, rather nice. "The pleasure was all mine, my lord." And this time, I really meant it.

We walked back together.


	4. Cue the Ominous Music

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the village, etc. etc.

* * *

The next morning, the Éored rode off in a dazzling parade of snorting horses and glinting armor, banners snapping in the breeze. I noticed the spy in formation, and my stomach tightened with worry. But the other warriors' upright postures and stalwart bearing made me proud to be an Eorling.

Earlier after breakfast I had told Prince Théodred about the spy. His eyebrows had shot upwards when I related the near-encounter between me and the spy. They had shot up even farther (which I hadn't thought possible) when I narrated my second foray into his bedroom. To be honest, I couldn't tell whether he was more outraged at the spy or at me entering his bedroom.

He had sat on the garden bench while I stood (or rather, cringed) before him. After I finished, he did not speak for a while as he ruminated on all I had revealed. I noticed that he had faint smile lines at the corners of his eyes.

At last he sighed. "Thank you. I will definitely keep this in mind, and I shall try to better guard those documents. What else do you suggest?"

"Me, my lord?" Prince Théodred wanted to know what _I_ thought. "I honestly do not know what more you could do at this point. All I can say is to watch yourself." I attempted a smile. "You had better not get killed, sir, for I will be sorely disappointed if you do."

He smiled warmly. "I shall do my best not to let you down, madam."

And then they were off.

* * *

Ten days later—ten long, boring, and eventless days later—the Riders returned. I was in my tree enjoying the breeze when I saw the now-familiar column of riders approaching. I half-climbed and half-slid down the tree, ending in a giant leap. I ran back to the village. Elise poked her head out the kitchens door and said wickedly, "Is it the prince?"

I stuck out my tongue. "You know, Elise, just because you're obsessed with him doesn't mean that you have to rope me into your fantasies!"

Before she had a chance to respond, a village crier shouted, "The Riders have returned!"

Elise cackled evilly at me and cried, "I KNEW it!" before I aimed a fake swing at her; she dodged it easily and ran into the kitchens still laughing.

I went to the stables. Sodred was there demonstrating to the wide-eyed stable boys how to wield a sword that was bigger than they were. While Sodred explained in serious tones the main sword stances, I mimicked his every move. The boys' loud giggles quickly alerted Sodred to my presence. He glared at me; I smiled back innocently.

"Sodred, the crier's up and about. Will you go find out what's going on?"

He went, leaving me with the stable boys. Cleaning in a hurry was always easier without my brother getting in the way. Together with Tobíen we readied the stalls for the warriors' horses.

Soon the company rode in, their horses hot and sweaty. We went down the rows of stalls, helping the Riders tend to their mounts. Tobíen nudged me towards the horse at the far end of the row.

It was Prince Théodred's horse. I'm quite certain it belonged to him because he was standing next to it, rubbing the horse's head and neck and speaking to it softly. When I entered the stall, he started a little and looked around guiltily.

"Welcome back, your Highness," I said, trying not to laugh; the expression on his face at being caught was PRICELESS.

His face lit up when he recognized me. "Lady Saffi," he said, sweeping an elegant bow.

"Oh, if that's what you want," I muttered, and bobbed a curtsy as best I could considering I was wearing pants.

I looked up to find him trying to hide a smile in vain. I giggled thinking of the picture we presented: hot, sweaty, covered in dirt, yet trying to act like a proper lord and lady. I recalled my purpose. "I'm here to clean off your horse, sir, if he'll let me."

Prince Théodred grinned. "Good luck. Eldoran doesn't tolerate anyone but me."

"We'll see about that."

I stepped forward cautiously. As soon as I was in range, the horse lunged, trying to bite me. I whacked its nose without thinking. The horse pulled back. I moved closer. The horse tried to bite me again; I dodged it and in doing so ended up next to the horse. Eldoran stiffened. I laid a hand gingerly on his side. He didn't move away. That was good. I started gently stroking him and speaking soft nonsense into his ears. Gradually, the horse relaxed. I offered him a lump of sugar. With a soft nicker he took it from my hand. I grinned and turned to Prince Théodred. "Your horse has a soft spot for sugar, my lord."

He had the strangest look on his face. "You have charmed my horse, Lady Saffi," he said finally.

* * *

Weeks went by. The warriors rode out, and they rode back, sometimes sporting a few minor injuries. More weeks went by, months even. The summer ended and it was harvest time. Nearly every man, woman, and child in the village helped bring in the crops. Even the Riders pitched in. I was reaping hay alongside Prince Théodred when I realized that I definitely didn't hate him anymore. In fact, I now counted him among my friends. It had come on so gradually that I hadn't quite realized what was happening.

* * *

More weeks went by, and winter swept over Alricsloft. The plains froze, and I could no longer bear to stay outside for any period of time. Then the snows came, and the village was buried in white. There had been no word of the spy, though I kept a fierce lookout for any further intrusions. Unfortunately, it would be far easier for him to examine Prince Théodred's documents while out fighting. Not that the Éored went out riding much now, for they were held down in our village for weeks at a time by the winter storms. But since nothing had happened, it seemed the spy was biding his time to make his next move. But just in case, I asked Elise to watch out as well. As my best friend, she was loyal to a fault, so I knew (as I told Théodred a little huffily) that I could trust her with my life.

But in the meantime, there we were, the prince and I, friends. I remember especially one incident of the prince and I shoveling side by side. I dumped a load of snow on him when his back was turned, and in revenge I got a mouthful of snow thrown straight at me. It turned into a giant free-for-all, soldiers and villagers all caught up in a giant snow fight. Afterward we all huddled by the fire in the kitchens to dry off and drink hot chocolate. Théodred and I had then talked about random things, from his childhood and some of my own more memorable escapades to his hopes and fears about being prince and heir to the throne. So we were friends. Good friends. What a funny world it was indeed.

It was nice that I had a new friend to keep my spirits up, for the news the Riders brought back every time they braved the cold was not getting better. Their two-day excursions began tending towards week-long campaigns as larger and larger hordes of monsters were sighted along the western borders. Two weeks after midwinter, the Riders returned to our village bearing wounded, but not their own: a village (relatively) near to Alricsloft had been ravaged by Wargs. Nine days after that, we brought supplies to another village to our west that had been attacked not by orcs but Men, Dunlendings. We brought what food and supplies we could to those attacked and sheltered the ones who had lost everything. Many survivors were children made orphans.

Prince Théodred began to look worried even when he was laughing. Sometimes we would stay up late at night after everyone else had gone to bed; then he would tell me about the latest battle and what his fears were. But I knew he wasn't telling me even half of it all. Whenever I asked about anything to do with his father or the capital, Edoras, he would change the subject, and his gaze would darken.

* * *

One dreary evening a few days before winter solstice, I was over at Elise's house practicing our Sindarin (well, she practiced, and I struggled to learn the alphabet and spell words like _cat _and _dog_). It was small—just two rooms for her and her father—but stacked full with texts and parchment. Elise's father Tanrir was originally from Esgaroth, and he and Elise both loved books and histories, hoarding manuscripts brought from lands he had visited.

Elise and I had just headed over to the cooking space to make tea when there came a knock at the door. Tanrir's head went up for a moment; then he returned to taking notes for whatever project he was working on. Elise handed off the kettle to me and bustled across the room. I attempted to pour out the water and look over my shoulder at the same time to see who could be calling at such an hour. This process didn't work out quite as planned.

While I hurriedly set the kettle down and then alternately flapped and sucked my burnt finger, Elise carried on a low conversation which I couldn't catch, muted as it was by the wind howling outside as usual. I was a bit preoccupied with my hot-water mishap; at last I ran across the room, pushed right through the doorway past Elise and the visitor, and thrust my hand into the nearest snowbank.

_Phew! That feels good..._ After recovering from the double shock of burnt hand and then freezing snow, I had relaxed enough after a few moments to actually look around—and then up, and up further still, to find Prince Théodred staring at me with a slightly shocked expression. Right over his shoulder I caught Elise laughing silently but hysterically, both hands clamped over her mouth and shoulders shaking.

"Well met, my lord," I said brightly. Elise doubled over.

The prince looked as though he wanted to start backing away. I continued nonchalantly, "I was pouring tea."

His lips moved, but no sounds came out.

My hand was rapidly approaching full numbness. I yanked it out of the drift and got to my feet. "Would you like to come inside and partake, milord?"

"Er..." He looked a little flustered.

"Oh, no, my lord," Elise cooed, "we don't burn _guests_."

I shoved her inside and tried to pretend like she hadn't said anything. "It's cold out, Elise will have my head if I keep the door open any longer, and I swear that I won't pour hot tea on you. So please come in?"

He smiled at last. It was a very nice smile. "If you insist." Then he followed me inside.

As the prince entered, Tanrir actually stood up to greet his visitor. Elise and I shared awed looks. Her father never interrupted his work for _anyone_.

"Well met, my lord," Tanrir said, bowing nervously in tight, controlled jerks.

"Thank you for having me," Prince Théodred replied and bowed deeply in return. "What are you working on?"

While Tanrir went on about his project excitedly and the prince made polite interested noises, Elise and I prepared tea. Well, she did the actual pouring, and I put the tea foods on a little tray that Elise got down specifically for the prince's sake.

The meal was actually rather pleasant. The prince got Tanrir talking about Esgaroth and about his work, which was Elise's cue to start quoting some Elvish at them. I only understood about half of it, but the part I did understand was (of course) quite hilarious when taken out of context as Elise loved to do. But since I didn't really participate in the conversation, I got the chance to observe the others—Tanrir and his bird-like movements, sharp Elise, and the prince, too. He was really not bad-looking, which was good for a prince, I decided; maybe even handsome, and definitely attractive. He also had a decent voice—and of course he was quite smart as well. He was really—

"Saffi?"

"What?" Tanrir and the prince had moved a bit away from us, and my gaze had naturally followed them. Elise, on the other hand, was looking straight at me. Though she wasn't smiling, her eyes were laughing hysterically, never a good sign. "Elise, what is it?"

"A bit distracted by the view, eh?" she murmured.

I scowled. "No. Of course not. Why would you ever say such a thing?"

She grinned. "Oh, nothing."

"Lady Saffi?"

I jumped. _How did he manage to always creep up like that?_ "Yes?"

He was smiling. "I was wondering whether or not you and a few of your friends would mind riding out with us for some clean-up work at Ealdred's farm. There's been a few reports of orcs seen prowling out that way north, and I'm sure they can always use some help around the house what with his parents and the baby."

I looked at Elise. "I can go. What about you?"

She nodded. "I'll have to check with Father, but I'm pretty sure I can do it. Who else should we ask?"

I considered this. "How about Lyna? She's good with making stuff stretch."

* * *

And thus the very next morning we three set out through the drifts going north on foot accompanied by two companies of the prince's finest. The air was sharp and so dry that we'd only been walking for ten minutes before I started getting thirsty and thinking wistfully about Ama's big mugs of tea.

But all thoughts of tea disappeared when we reached the farm. Or rather, when we reached what was left of it that still lay smoking.

Lyna stopped short and clapped a hand to her mouth. Elise's mouth went tight. The prince made a sudden, short gesture with his hand, and the Riders spread out in formation, with a small group advancing around the building and out of sight.

At last they returned looking even grimmer than usual. "We're too late, sir," one man reported. "He and the children are all dead, and presumably the wife is, too, or worse, though we haven't found her body."

Prince Théodred growled out a swear under his breath. "I knew we should have come sooner."

I shook my head. "Should we just stay out of your way, then?"

He shrugged bleakly. "If you can stand it, see if there's anyone left in the house. They might've got at least one child hid in time."

I looked over at Elise and Lyna. "Let's go," Lyna said, the words firm despite her trembling mouth, and we set off, trying to seem a lot braver than we actually felt.

The ground floor was strewn with orcs. On their chest was a strange insignia heralding some allegiance I'd never heard of before—a stark white hand on the black armor. It seemed Ealdred had put up a good fight before being overwhelmed by the sheer number of the monsters.

We found Ealdred's wife on the second floor, dead. Her legs and dress were stained with her own blood.

* * *

It was a silent ride home to Alricsloft. Ama met us at the door, her usual bustling self, and asked us how it went. Lyna stared. Elise opened her mouth and then closed it again.

"We were too late," I croaked; my throat was still dry, though I'd long forgotten about it. Someone handed me a cup of mead, and I gulped it down, not even pausing at the strength of the alcohol. "I'm sorry, Ama. We'll—we'll hold a ceremony, so they can pass on in peace."

"Those poor things." She sniffed and then was in charge again. "Well, we can plan that out after supper. Come on, girls." Elise and Lyna followed.

I turned to find the prince standing by. "Why'd you give me this?"

He shot me a rather shaky grin. "You liked it, didn't you? Though I must admit that I didn't expect you to drink the whole thing." Then he reached out and patted my cheek. "Lady Saffi, I'm sorry."

I bit my lip. "Don't—"

"Don't what?" he glowered.

I looked down at the empty cup and then back at him. Then I hugged him as I would my brother or any of my friends. It was stiff and slightly awkward because he didn't reciprocate and just stood there blinking at me. So I let go, patted his arm, and left without a word.

* * *

A week later the first late-winter storm moved in, and there were no missions (or raids) for the next few months. This was good in terms of survival (not even monsters could make it through those winds), but bad for people like me who liked to get outdoors. When at long last the weather started to clear, I was one of the first to venture outside. The biting wind was cold, but I needed to get a drink of fresh air.

On my second day outside, I was practicing my archery when several scouts rode back in, having only been dispatched the day before. One rode right before me; his face was ashen. I winced: _That can't be good._ I immediately collected my things and went back to the house.

The prince met me at the gate. "What's wrong?" I asked quietly, noting that his normally clear eyes were troubled.

He directed me wordlessly to the garden. "A large force is approaching from Isengard," he said grimly. "According to all reports they will reach the Crossings of Isen in five days."

"It is true, then? Saruman is no longer a friend of the Mark?"

He nodded morosely. (I noticed that his eyes darkened when he was worried.) Then I grasped what he had said and swallowed hard; the Crossings of Isen were only a day's hard ride away. "How many?"

He sighed. "Not so many that we cannot handle. Hopefully."

Then he was off to tell his men.


	5. Wavering Sensibilities

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns everything except my village and the people who live there, etc. etc.

* * *

That night dinner was subdued. Prince Théodred and Lord Éomer were both quiet and grim, as were their men. I wished to comfort the prince but knew not how.

As soon as the meal ended, I left the room and went for a walk. I hadn't gotten very far when I turned the corner and almost walked straight into Elise. She looked pale. "Saffi, you need to come with me."

"What is it?" I whispered back.

"You know that I found out where your spy is staying. Problem is, his housemate, and best friend, was one of the scouts that brought the news this morning. We need to assume the worst: the spy knows everything that the scouts do, and thus everything the Princes know."

"I think we should go in," I decided. "We need to verify what exactly the spy knows so we can tell Prince Théodred exactly how much of his information has been compromised."

We ran silently out one of the side entrances and through the nearby maze of small houses in which the Riders were housed, staying in the shadows with Elise leading and me checking behind us for anyone following.

She stopped outside the last cottage in the village; beyond lay only farms and plains. A quick check through an open back window let us know that, for the time being at least, the house was empty, so we crept inside and looked around.

While I searched the floor, Elise kept watch. Under the bedspread in the back bedroom I found a packet of parchment pieces. My heart sank as I flipped through them. One of the sheets was a perfect copy of Prince Théodred's battle plans—formations, attack strategies, everything. Another paper was an unfinished letter in Westron to someone named 'Lord Gríma' reporting that his task would be fulfilled soon… The name sounded oddly familiar.

A third paper was in a foul tongue that I could not decipher. "Elise," I called as loudly as I dared. "Can you read this?"

She frowned. "Only a bit…" She looked at me with eyes wide. "This is the language of the East, Saffi. Only evil things use it."

"How did you learn, then?"

"Back at my grandfather's, in Esgaroth. He has an ... extensive library." She looked back down at the parchment and shuddered slightly. "It's about the prince's battle strategy… something about Isengard… no, just Isen…"

"That's where they're headed next," I moaned softly. This was not good at all. Prince Théodred's life was in serious danger. Our former worst-case scenario seemed happy compared to this paper's implications.

"Saffi, get down!"

I crouched behind the bed with Elise. The window was open, and in flapped a crow holding a piece of parchment in its beak. It fluttered about the room, searching for something—or someone. Then it flew into the next room. Elise and I looked at each other, then by mutual consent climbed into an empty trunk in the corner. It was covered in dust and had cracks running down the sides. We peered out through said cracks cautiously.

Voices could be heard outside: the men returning to their dwellings after dinner. Elise and I exchanged anxious looks. How were we going to get out of this? Then I realized with chagrin that we had not returned the papers to their original hiding spot. I eased my way out and stuffed them back under the bed. Elise held the lid open, and I jumped back inside just as people entered the next room. We waited with bated breath, frozen into place.

A man entered the room with the crow hovering about just behind. It was the spy. He reached under the mattress and pulled out the diagram of Prince Théodred's battle plans. The spy added a few lines of text at the top of the page, folded it up, and handed it to the crow. Clutching the new message in its beak, the bird flew off.

Another man came into the room. I recognized him, too; he was Lord Éomer's personal attendant. "Have you sent it, then?" he asked.

The spy nodded. "Now I can finish off that letter to Wormtongue."

"Good," the second man said. "The sooner we finish this wretched business the better. I thought we would just be reporting on the prince's movements for the court to know, not leaking battle plans to orcs."

The spy sat down on the bed. "I agree; I feel bad about sending out milords' personal plans to such creatures." He didn't sound very sorry. "But a job is a job, and Lord Wormtongue does pay very well." He looked up at the other man sharply. "You're not getting second thoughts, are you?"

Elise and I looked at each other frantically while the second traitor babbled on nervously about how of course he wasn't getting second thoughts, and how could he even think such things, especially after they'd been working together for so long… All I could wonder was how much longer were these two idiots going to blabber on. We needed to get out of there, but as long as the men were present and awake, Elise and I were trapped.

Luckily, there was a shout outside the window. "Are you two going to mope in there all night, or do you want to come play cards with us? Hunwald swears he's going to win again, but I'd like to see him try!…"

The two men exchanged glances and then agreed to go out. Elise and I breathed silent sighs of relief. As soon as we heard the door to the dwelling close, we clambered out of the cramped trunk and snuck back to the house. My mind was racing; I had to warn Prince Théodred! But what could I tell him that would change his mind from fighting? He was always so insistent on defending the country and doing his duty for the Riddermark no matter what, but that didn't excuse him getting himself killed in an obvious trap!

As soon as we were back in the house, we began searching for the prince. Elise and I split up; she agreed to search the east wing, while I looked through the west wing. My heart pounded heavily. If I failed to warn the prince, he might very well die. My head spun at the thought of him dead. The very idea left a dull ache in my chest, as though losing him would mean losing a part of myself as well. I took a deep breath to fortify myself. Elise and I couldn't afford to fail at our task.

* * *

I barely slept at all that night. Finally I got up, dressed, and sat in the doorway to the hall so that I could catch Prince Théodred as soon as he left his room. Better to warn him before the event than try to ride after and only hope catch up in time.

It was still dark when the prince stepped out, his face drawn and unreadable. I went for the direct approach and accosted him before he'd taken more than four steps.

"Sir, we need to, no, we _must_ speak in private before you depart."

He looked at me blankly. "I don't think…" I grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his room. I shut the door, lit a candle so I could see his face, and turned to him.

He was eyeing me warily. "Whatever you say can be said in front of my men," he admonished. "I need to be on my way, Miss Saffi. As much as I enjoy spending time with you, I cannot afford to be distracted right now."

I stared. "By all the Horse Lords, this is no distraction! And I cannot speak in front of your men! This is urgent—and private." I made sure I was securely positioned in front of the exit and then rushed on before he could stop me. "We already knew that one of the soldiers is a spy sending information to Saruman's forces. But it's worse than we thought. You're about to ride into a trap."

He sucked in a breath. I took a moment to steady myself, to keep the tremor out of my voice and speak as calmly and clearly as I could. "Spy 1's housemate is in it with him. There are two spies, and the second is one of the scouts who rode out yesterday." I half expected the Prince to swear at that—like he had done last time learning of a spy—but instead he remained painfully still. In some ways this was scarier. But I plowed ahead anyway, my voice rising as my fear got the better of me: "Last night the two spies found and copied all your battle plans and sent them to the enemy. Your strategy has been utterly compromised. You _can't_ go out there; you'll just get yourself killed!"

Silence. He still hadn't moved.

I stepped to the door and came back, a vain attempt to work off a bit of tension. But he hadn't moved a muscle. It was if time had frozen. _Why isn't he agreeing with me? Oh, no; please don't say—_

"Saffi, I can't let them ride into the Riddermark uncontested, either. I have no choice; we must fight them."

I stared, mouth open in shock. "So you're willing to walk right into a trap and lose your life—and probably most of your warriors' lives—just to prove a point? Just to say that the Riddermark won't cave to bullies? All that you'll do is show yourself to be a fool!"

"I know what I am doing; and my men know the risks of battle. And who are you to tell me, the prince of the Mark, how to fight my battles?" He took a step forward, looming over me with his superior height. "What does a nineteen-year-old girl know about war that a forty-year-old experienced warrior doesn't? Why on Arda should I listen to you?"  
"Because last night I witnessed a plot to take your life," I hissed. "I value that life. The MARK values that life. The Eorlingas NEED that life. And if you're just going to throw it away because you're too stupid to comprehend what's going to happen, then you obviously know far less than I do, for all that I'm young and inexperienced!"

I bit my lip. This approach clearly wasn't working. "Sir," I tried again, "please… you can still fight them eventually, you can still ride out if that's what you really want to do… but please—don't go straight off to the crossings of Isen; don't do what they KNOW you're planning on doing."

He turned away and began pacing. _So that's what he does when he's thinking,_ a corner of my brain noted.

Finally he stopped, still facing in the other direction. "Who is he? —the second spy you saw."

I shook my head even though he couldn't see the gesture. "I don't know his name; but I drew a picture of him." I pulled the scrap of paper out of my pocket with trembling fingers. He gave it one glance and turned away again, but not before I saw shock and betrayal cross his features.

"Who is he?" I ventured.

"My friend," Théodred murmured, moving so that he stared directly at me. His gaze was level, but his eyes burned with anger. "He is my personal attendant; in the past few months, I have trusted him with everything… my horse, my personal papers, my—battle plans…" His voice trailed off. He stalked over to the window.

"Milord…" I stepped toward him, unsure of what I should say or do.

"Go, Saffi," he said. His voice was dangerously level. I didn't move. "I said GO," he repeated in the same tone. I noticed that his hands were gripping the sill so tightly that they were turning white. I took one step back.

"Sir…" I had to make him snap out of this frozen rage, to force him back into action. "Dammit, Théo, look at me!"

He spun around, wild eyed. "WHAT, Saffi? What is it? You just told me that someone I trusted conspires to kill me, so please excuse me if I seem a bit flustered. What do you want NOW?"

"I was wondering… Do you like honey cake?" Anything, anything to catch hold of his attention.

His eyes went wide with surprise. "Excuse me?" he finally managed in a strangled voice.

"You can still fight out there, at Isen itself, if that's so important to you! Just _change your strategy_. That's all you have to do. Change tactics at the last minute so you catch the enemy by surprise. Tell Lord Éomer; get him to help. I know you did all the training with the old tactics, but none of those things matter when the enemy will anticipate your every move. You can develop a new plan, fast, and _tell no one_ until the last possible minute. Just don't let any of the men know; that way word can't get out of any changes before the battle actually begins…" I trailed off nervously. Prince Théodred was still staring at me open-mouthed. He recollected himself and closed it. Then he started pacing again.

Finally he stopped. "Saffi."

"Yes?" I noticed that he had quit addressing me formally. Was that good or bad?

Théodred took a deep breath, stepped closer. "You know what? I'll do it. I'll tell Éomer and we'll redo the plans! That way I won't be giving in to Saruman, but we also won't be walking into a trap—at least, not like before."

I managed a small smile. There was indeed hope left for the prince of Rohan.

* * *

They rode off promptly at dawn. I watched from my bedroom window as Théodred set off towards a battle that still might cost him his life. No, I shouldn't think about that; I shouldn't be thinking about _him_. After all, even if the warriors did return straight to Alricsloft, there was no reason for them to stay forever. Théodred and his men would probably go to Edoras soon so that the prince could spend some time with his father—after all, they hadn't seen each other all winter. And why would the crown prince of the Riddermark be interested in a foolish village girl, anyway? Not that I wanted him to be interested in me, of course; I didn't have those kinds of feelings for him. No, not at all. We were just friends, and I was completely satisfied with that. Completely satisfied.

* * *

I went downstairs for breakfast. Father, since the Éored weren't here, didn't wish to dine with the rest of us. Sodred and I likewise returned to our usual habit—dining in the mess with the servants. I slid onto the long bench next to Elise. We ate in companionable silence. I never really talked much, anyway; it's much more interesting to listen to everyone else's conversation and learn all the latest news. Living in a small village, as I might have mentioned before, mean that everyone knows the latest gossip. Which is fine as long as the gossip isn't about you.

My friends went on about the soldiers and how fine they were, about all the business that the tavern's been getting, and about Sodred—Sodred? I looked around furtively, as did several others. "It's safe," Ømund said with a grin. Sodred was indeed far out of earshot as he was seated at the very opposite end of the room surrounded by the loud conversation of the numerous young men about his age.

"They are a bit taken with themselves, aren't they?" Ømund murmured. Now seated to my right, he was one of the senior horse trainers.

"Just a bit," I said with a serious face. "But who can blame them, strapping lads that they are?" We all smirked at the oft-denied vanity of young men in their twenties.

"So what's this about my brother?" I asked, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Tell me _all_."

"_Well_, it seems that a certain someone sprained her ankle the other day because she was spending too much time watching your brother with his friends and not enough time watching where she was going," Lyna reported with amusement.

Elise grinned. "It was hilarious! Anwyn turned toward his voice without looking and completely missed the bar stool lying there. Then SPLAT! she goes flying to the ground—she was carrying a tray of food, and it went everywhere! … –Those two need to get together soon so we don't have to watch them dancing around each other all the time."

I laughed. Her description was uncannily accurate. It did at times seem as though Sodred and Anwyn spent an inordinate amount of time watching and then avoiding each other. "They're probably just not yet ready to enter a relationship like that," I said. _Someone_ had to defend my brother, and it might as well be me. "They like each other for sure—that's obvious enough—but they're still probably trying to figure out whether or not they actually want to be serious about it."

"So Sodred just doesn't have the guts to admit to his interest yet?" Ømund mused.

Elise added just loud enough for me to hear "like his sister?"

I ignored her. "It's not that he's afraid. It's more that he's not sure if he actually likes her enough to be serious about it or if it's just another infatuation."

Elise eyed me sharply, and then whispered, "Are we still only talking about your brother?"

I flushed. "Of course!"

The others looked at me curiously, having missed the question that had provoked such a response. I hastily excused myself from the rest of the meal.

* * *

I went to my room and tried to come up with something to do. I couldn't bring myself to practice with my weapons when Théodred was about to engage in very real battle. Whoops. I wasn't supposed to be thinking about him. Right.

Finally I gave up and went down to the stables. I wandered down the row glancing at the now-empty stalls that had housed the Éored's horses. Something lying half-covered by straw caught my eye. I entered the stall cautiously.

It was a foot.

My heart lurched. I dropped to my knees, my mouth suddenly dry, and hurriedly uncovered it. There lay Danmarr, one of our stable boys. He was about ten and spent all of his free time in the stable, since he was truly gifted with horses.

Danmarr groaned and moved slightly. He had a black eye and bruises all over. Lucky the poor boy was even alive. My stomach churned. What kind of monstrous person could do this? And to a child, at that! With difficulty, I swallowed down my rage. Danmarr needed tending to.

I picked him up and carried him as swiftly as I could to my room, where I laid him down gently on my bed. As I turned away to go get some ice for his bruises, he caught at my sleeve and tugged.

"Saffi…" It was barely a whisper, just a small breath coming from a small boy. "I didn't mean any harm, I swear! I just wanted to watch the soldiers as they got ready to go, so I… I hid in the loft at one of the spots where you can look down into the stalls. A soldier—one of the soldiers did it."

I felt sick. "Was it this one, by any chance?" I got out the same drawing I had shown Théodred.

He nodded. "How did you know?"

I wondered briefly just how much I should tell Danmarr. I decided on an abridged version of the truth. "He is not loyal to the prince and the Mark."

He struggled to sit up and failed. I soothed and fussed over him until he relaxed back into the blankets. "Saffi, he was showing his friend this knife he had… he said it was meant for the prince. And he dipped it in this weird liquid…"

"What was the liquid?" My mind cried _poison_. I tried to stay calm.

"I think it was adder venom mixed with orc blood. At least, that's what he said. … Saffi, what's an orc?"

"An evil creature from the East." I didn't feel like going into more detail. If he was lucky—extremely lucky—then he wouldn't ever learn said details.

Danmarr shuddered slightly. "Saffi…" he murmured. "I'm sleepy…"

I smiled at him. "Then go to sleep, silly." He slipped off quickly, and I immediately set to work to do what I could for his injuries. Most were bruises, which I couldn't do much about, but there were several deep cuts that needed treatment. As I worked, I worried. Théodred was far closer to danger than I had thought.

* * *

Once I'd done all I could for Danmarr's cuts, I went down to the kitchens to get him some lunch. I noticed my pack sitting at the door outside (the perfect place to sneak out) where I had left it in preparation for riding with the Éored and picked it up. Then I stopped by one of the storage rooms to get out more bandages and medicine.

But when I got back to my room, I could barely keep myself from dropping the platter of food in dismay.

Danmarr was gone.

Was he about to try what I suspected? I ran to the stables.

My hunch had been right: a horse was missing. I realized in a distant corner of my mind that I still had my pack slung over my shoulders. Oh, well; too late to put it back in my room. I had to act now.

I clucked to my favorite horse, a dark brown mare with intelligent eyes. She knelt, and I mounted barebacked. Then we set off after Danmarr.

* * *

A strong wind was blowing from the north, partway into my face. I rode for about an hour before I caught up with him. Danmarr was traveling at a steady gallop though he was in obvious pain—I could see his pallor even from a distance. I guided the mare alongside him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I have to go help his Highness," Danmarr shouted over the sound of horses and wind. "He's in trouble! I know he is!"

"And how do you think you're going to survive a night out on the Mark when creatures from the East are on the move?"

"I don't care," he said defiantly. "I have to help him, Saffi. Don't you care about the prince?"

"Come on," I replied, leaning over and grabbing the other horse's bridle. "We're going home."

Danmarr whipped his horse away, and I almost fell off the mare. He galloped off, forcing me to give chase. I galloped faster, managing to finally ride in front of him and cut off his path. His horse halted as Danmarr struggled to stay upright, his face even paler than before.

I looked around and realized suddenly that I had no idea where we were. We had been riding now for at least two hours, constantly changing directions as he had tried and failed to get around me. Danmarr guessed my thoughts and walked his horse alongside mine. I went up a small ridge and stopped. There was the river Isen. What a dilemma—should I guess at a direction to Alricsloft and try to go back (and possibly get lost) or follow the river toward the Éored, a familiar landmark, and a giant battle? I looked over at Danmarr. His small face was alight with determination.

"I give in," I said wearily. "We're going to see the prince, all right?"

He grinned wearily. "I knew you would change your mind!" He noticed my pack. "Got any food?"


	6. A River Running Red

Disclaimer: J.R.R.T. owns everything except my village and the people in it, so on and so forth.

A/N: As you may have noticed, this story's rating has been upped to PG:13-ish for, as the movie ratings say, "epic battle sequences and scary images." Although my epic battle sequences aren't nearly as epic as those portrayed by Tolkien (or Peter Jackson, for that matter). And on a completely unrelated note, the other day I was listening to the LOTR soundtracks and I heard this part that sounded just like music from _The Matrix._ Howard Shore plagiarizing? Heavens forbid... (But it's okay because the soundtracks overall are so freaking awesome.) Anyway, back to the Riddermark...

* * *

Danmarr and I spent the night out on the open plains. I made our meager camp in a hollow near the river. I couldn't sleep at all, so while Danmarr slept fitfully, plagued by bad dreams, I kept watch and occasionally soothed him back into slumber. Both of us were curled up next to the horses. Luckily Elise had packed several large blankets that were large enough to cover all four of us. I briefly considered starting a fire to stave off the freezing winter but then remembered what a stupid idea that was; having a campfire on the plains is like putting up a giant sign saying HEY, PREDATORS, COME AND GET ME WHILE I'M STILL HOT. So instead I just pulled the blanket even higher and concentrated on every single fighting tip I'd ever gotten.

Before I knew it, the sky was growing lighter. I got out some cold meat and cheese for a meager breakfast. Danmarr quickly devoured it as I apologized for the poor fare and warmed up the horses for the day's trek. Once he had eaten and I had checked his injuries, we mounted up and set off.

* * *

It was well nigh noontime—the sun was directly overhead—when we heard it: men's shouts, orcs' snarls, horses' screams, the clash of armor against metal, metal against metal, all mingling together. It was the sound of fear and pain, horror and madness, of death ruling supreme. Danmarr's face, which had just started to regain a healthy hue, lost all color and resumed yesterday's frozen pallor.

He slid off his horse unevenly and dropped to the ground. He staggered forward a few steps, then stopped. He looked back at me helplessly. "Saffi, we're too late!"

"What do you mean?" Suddenly I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think of anything except whether or not Théodred was still alive. I dismounted and somehow ended up next to Danmarr.

The battle was raging. A torrent of orcs poured across the calm waters of the Isen. It seemed as though our bank would be overrun, but then arrows sprouted forth in the orcs' backs, causing them to stagger into one another. Some fell, joining an ever-growing pile of bodies, but others, which looked to be a kind of orc I'd never seen before, merely shook it off and kept advancing. A wave of orcs would cross; some would fall, pierced by arrows; others, either missed by the barrage or of the sturdy new kind, would reach the opposite bank, whereupon a band of warriors would chop them down. Just when it looked as though our side was gaining the upper hand, a fresh new wave of orcs would come anew. Danmarr wept at the sight of fallen horses and men.

"The battle's already started! We're too late," he repeated wetly. The look of strong determination wavered and threatened to crumble completely.

Watching, I glimpsed a familiar face, bloodstained and careworn. In an instant, I had made up my mind.

"Stay here and mind the horses," I told Danmarr. "I'm going in."

I went down and slipped behind the archers who hid among the reeds lining each bank. None noticed my silent presence, intent on their duty—not that they would have heard me, anyway; my ears rang with the twangs of strings snapping, the whistles of arrows slicing toward the foe, the roars of men and fiends clashing, and the groans of dying creatures. I crawled on through bodies of monsters and men until I reached the group of defending warriors. I realized with a jolt that for the first time in my life I would have to kill: not bring my dagger to the edge of someone's throat and end a competition, but complete the motion, curbed for so long, and actually stab. My stomach clenched. Then the next wave rolled in, and I was immersed in the onrush.

Something in my mind switched. My body now operated on pure instinct, while my mind went into complete sensory mode. I saw everything, heard everything, smelled everything, felt it all, and could distinguish between minute details I would never even have noticed in everyday life. I cut and slashed, stabbing and slicing through flesh, the flesh of otherworldly monsters. I can still recall this, my first battle. I remember how the wind whipped against my cheeks, how one orc who grabbed at my braid yelped in startled surprise when he encountered the spiked strap I put in there, how just as an orc was about to stab me I managed to stab him in the throat. I remember at one point tasting blood that wasn't human, ducking and rolling under a giant Warg to avoid another's bloodthirsty snaps at my legs, and barely avoiding being crushed by said Warg sustaining a blow meant for me. I remember how time disappeared, not slowing, not stopping, but simply not existing; all that existed was the battle, going on forever and forever through eternity, yet somehow lasting but a single moment at the same time. I don't think even today I fully comprehend how often I nearly died that day. On the battlefield, it wasn't about defending an idea or a country or anything. It was about living or dying, nothing more.

But what I remember most is how suddenly my heart clenched, I glanced to my left, and through a clear hole in the line of orcs I caught a glimpse of him I had sought for so long. I remember how his clear blue eyes met mine for that brief piece of a moment. And how in the next piece of time the ranks shifted and I saw another I knew wielding a knife that I recognized from a child's description.

Then time returned with a jolt.

I could think again with frightening clarity. My mind was once again at the helm. No longer did instinct guide me; I had to consider my every move. My mind whirled. I dodged a swinging axe and mauled the orcish owner in the chest, but I was focused on the figure holding the very same knife that had gotten me here. He was near Théodred, too near. I had to get over there somehow. But how? I ducked and narrowly escaped a sword; dropping and rolling, I was up and moving. Luckily, the wave had just lessened for a moment; I weaved and ducked and dodged my way through fighters. I was on a mission.

Somehow I maneuvered my stance and position so that I could see Théodred easily. Near him was the spy. I noticed Lord Éomer, between Théodred and me, glance at the spy suddenly out of the corner of his eye; obviously the spy hadn't been positioned so close to the prince. The spy's companion was close by as well. I realized that the two traitors were in perfect formation to kill both men in line for the throne.

The next minute my attention was wrenched away by a particularly large and vicious-looking orc who tried to chop me to shreds. I barely avoided his swords (he had one in each hand) and found to my dismay that my various knife-blows had no effect but to focus all his attention on killing me. Instinct refused to come to my aid; I was too weary to hand everything over to my body. My limbs instead took precious seconds to process each command before acting. It felt as though I was trapped in thick, slow-moving sludge dragging me down to the choking riverbed of corpses strewn across both banks.

Just as I thought I was about to join the ranks of the dead, the orc gave a grunt of surprise. A sword had suddenly sprouted forth from his intestines. As I watched in mute shock it sliced cleanly upwards to pierce the orc's heart. The monster swayed for a moment, then fell over dully, already gone. My savior was Éomer; our eyes met, and his flickered with recognition. But before he could say anything, the next onslaught was upon us, and we each turned back to our separate foes.

Again the fighting: slash, stab, duck and dodge, battling onward blindly, not advancing, not retreating, but just holding my own against what seemed a constant flow of orcs that seemed to have no end. I saved several of the Éored's lives that day; several likewise returned the favor. I remember noticing, in a hazy part of my mind that seemed separated and distant from the action, that the sky had darkened as clouds the color of death rolled in.

And then that small piece of my mind which had previously not been paying that much attention to anything looked up and saw what I had been dreading for so long. And without thought, without pause, without hardly even looking, I threw my dagger, and the years of training, the weeks of dreading, the nights of waiting—what seemed my entire existence—all boiled down to this one moment, this one motion. I watched as my best dagger, my lucky dagger, flew through the air and buried itself into one man's chest. He dropped the dagger he himself had been clutching, inches from another's back, and looked down at his pierced breast in disbelief. Éomer had been shouting something frantically. At the sound of his voice Théodred had turned; he, too, could only stare as my dagger finished its journey and the traitorous knife fell to cold ground from colder fingers.

When the knife hit the ground, I finally released the breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding. Relief swept through me. He was safe. They were both safe. Except—

Except we were still in the middle of a battle, and right now a giant orc was making his way through the sea of fighters right towards us. _Uh-oh. _

The orc radiated menace and power. He gave one contemptuous look to the dead spy and looked up again at Théodred, who stood tall and strong amid the corpses. The orc spat out a guttural snarl that sounded something like "so that pitiful traitor failed to kill you?" A tense moment—and then the giant orc attacked. Théodred and Éomer together could barely hold off the onslaught; it looked as though my recent act was about to be in vain. The three circled around, running and dodging through the ongoing battle, intent only on each other.

I sought frantically a way to help. I looked down the river back to where I had last seen Danmarr. His eyes were huge, but he was still upright. As I watched he shouted something. I couldn't hear him. He tried again, mouthing the words with elaborate slowness. With a flash of realization I understood. And then I launched myself onto the orc's back.

It was probably one of the stupidest things I've ever done. My weight alone didn't give the orc pause; rather, it staggered a bit from the impact and carried on trying to kill Éomer and Théodred like before. I took the dagger clenched in my teeth in one hand and tried to stab the orc. That got its attention. It reached up and tried to grab me; I dodged the attempt and clung on desperately.

Théodred used the orc's preoccupation with the crazed girl on its shoulders to get in a deadly blow. The orc was still trying to shake me off. My left hand slipped off, and I swung about hanging by one arm. My eyes widened as Théodred's sword slid right through the orc's chest, exiting its back just where I had been clinging a few seconds ago. The orc ignored the wound, floundering as he tried to attack me and also crush his original targets. Éomer stabbed the orc in the throat mercilessly, sweeping downwards to cut through the orc's chest a second time.

The combined injuries were enough: the orc staggered, swayed, and crumpled into a heap, killed at last. I let go as he fell and rolled out of the way of his heavy body.

Théodred offered me a hand wordlessly. I was reminded forcibly of the last time he had offered to help me up. "I would ask what you are doing here," he murmured gently, "but since you have already saved my life twice, I can't really complain, can I?"

I grinned. Suddenly the air seemed lighter. It felt like ages since the last time I had smiled. "Well, you could complain, but I'm sure my lord Éomer would hit you for me."

I hadn't realized that Théodred was still holding my hand until he suddenly reddened slightly and let go belatedly. I hurriedly looked away from him to his cousin instead.

Éomer chuckled at my comment and added, "Don't worry, Lady Saffi; I hit him every chance I get." I caught him eyeing me curiously when he thought I wasn't looking, though. He was obviously wondering what on Arda I was doing on a blood-soaked battlefield.

The three of us stood together uncomfortably for a moment; we had veered off the battlefield during the chase and now, for the time at least, were in no real danger from incoming orcs and other such monsters.

Over in the main arena the numbers of invaders seemed to be slowing. After a few seconds, Théodred heaved a big sigh and set off back to the fighting grounds. I went to follow, but Éomer touched my arm lightly to keep me back apace.

I looked up at him. "You probably want to ask why I'm here," I guessed.

He nodded. "Indeed… and other questions. But they must wait until a more convenient time, you will say?"

"Quite. Now, we must get back to your men, my lord." Before he could say more, I headed back to the battlefield.

* * *

The battle had finally ended. After the giant orc had been slain, what was left of the host took one look at the Éorlingas assembled—for those shooting from the marshes had arose, still (relatively) fresh, and had mustered to attack—and had fled. Éomer and a lieutenant led the men in a brief attack that soundly defeated the rest of the monsters. A few escaped, but only a few, and they were intent on running away, not regrouping for another fight. It looked to be a great victory until I turned and realized how many of our own were casualties as well.

As men bustled about setting up camp and healing tents, taking care of our dead, and disposing of the enemy dead, I staggered upstream to where the water would definitely be clean. As I kneeled at the edge of the river, splashing my face with the ice-cold water, watching the river sweep by in its endless dash to the sea, the magnitude of the day's events finally caught up to me. I felt dizzy and slightly nauseous—not at the sight of blood, or even death—but the fact that I had had a hand in this senseless destruction. I had killed, had entered battle with the sole intent of doing so.

I got up and went over to a patch of bushes about ten feet away; here I could throw up without worries of spoiling the waters. I promptly did so. I went to wipe my mouth off with my sleeve and realized that there were Warg entrails smeared all over it. I changed my mind and went back to the river to wash up.

Once I felt better, I went back to the camp and busied myself attending to the Éored's wounds. As I cleaned a deep gash in one man's arm, a shriek resounded through the camp, and the next thing I knew, a small body had collided with my own. "Saffi, you're alive!"

"Always the tone of surprise," I teased. Danmarr let go of me and stepped back. "Would you like to help?"

Danmarr nodded and set to work. We moved from person to person. I made a point to joke with and tease each one to distract them from the pain. Several asked what a village girl like myself was doing out here on the battlefield; I demurred and said merely that I had always dreamed of partaking in the glorious aftermath of battle. Bad joke though it was, it seemed to do the job.

The only hard part was when I stooped to tend a man's leg, which had been badly ravaged by a Warg, and identified him to be the spy's helper. Danmarr was by my side, and he froze in recognition. The man turned his head to look at us and recognized Danmarr. Both seemed unable to speak for a minute; then Danmarr stood and turned away. I bit my lip to control the impulse to do the same. At last I said tightly, "Do you really deserve to be healed?"

He closed his eyes in shame. "No," he admitted in barely a whisper. "I should have stopped him… I should have known he would hurt the boy, but I didn't stop him. He just told me to go, that he would take care of it…" He took a shaky breath. "I pretended that _I_, at least was doing nothing wrong, despite being constantly plagued with guilt. I am just as complicit in such crimes! My lady, I committed treason—I—"

I stopped him midsentence. "I know all that you are guilty of."

He winced. "You?—how? No, don't tell me. I don't…" He tried again. "Miss, if you would just leave me here to die, I would be much in debt to you. I don't deserve life, I think." He closed his eyes and looked away. "Just go."

I looked to my left, catching movement, and saw that Éomer was standing nearby. I gave him a questioning glance. Éomer's gaze hardened as he looked on the face of his (former) personal attendant. "Tend to him, please, Lady Saffi," he said quietly. "I would have him live with such pain and guilt rather than escape this life and its woes so easily." He paused, and then whispered, more to himself than either of us, "I owed him my life; now I pay back the debt." Before I could reply, he moved away as quietly as he had come.

I set to work.

* * *

A/N: By casualties, I mean the dictionary definition, which encompasses those injured as well as the dead. Also, I got the whole jumping-on-your-opponent's-back thing from J.K. Rowling, specifically when Harry jumps onto the troll's back in a fit of crazed heroics.


	7. Ends Unraveled

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the village, everything else belongs to J.R.R.T. the Great, yadda yadda, etc. etc. You know the drill :) Happy reading!

* * *

Last night Danmarr and I had slept out in the open covered by nothing more than a few thick blankets (or rather Danmarr had slept while I fretted). Tonight I wanted nothing more to do the same (minus the fretting, of course). But somehow my presence in the camp was causing all sorts of logistical issues—where I would have a privy, how far away from the others I should sleep, whether I should be given a separate tent—that were highly unnecessary. So I thought, anyhow, as I tried and failed to cover a large yawn.

Théodred said something quietly to Éomer, who nodded and whispered something back. I rolled my eyes, stood, and set off to find a nice place that was far enough away from the main camp to dispel any lingering worries. How I envied Danmarr; he had quickly been adopted by the Éored. Already he had numbers of men all cooing over 'the brave little fellow' and offering him extra blankets and supplies. I, on the other hand, was being uniformly avoided and stared at.

I had just found a very nice spot indeed when Éomer approached and said cautiously, "Lady Saffi, we have resolved the issue. The prince and I will share a tent and you will take his."

I stared. "What? Why?"

"You cannot sleep out here on your own," Éomer said slowly, as though he were explaining something to a recalcitrant two-year-old. "Also, while you take your things into your new tent, you could tell us why you are here."

An explanation? Horse Lords. This was not going to go over well. I could see how the conversation would inevitably turn out: _A ten-year-old boy half my height made me do it, sir! I swear! No, it's the truth. It's entirely his fault. Yes, sir, he outraced me on a horse (even though I have spent my entire life on them). No, he's not _exactly_ half my age, sir, and he's a very fast rider. Even though he was severely injured at the time…_ I gathered up my blankets and courage and headed back to camp.

* * *

Well, it was awkward, to say the least. Théodred at length was forced to cover a wide grin while Éomer just looked more and more bemused. I finished and at last looked up from the ground, which had once again become exceedingly interesting while I told my narrative. I met Théodred's bright blue eyes squarely. In them I saw amusement but also genuine concern. Both he and his cousin were excellent at keeping straight faces no matter what, but I had noticed that Théodred's eyes always betrayed his true feelings. Éomer, on the other hand, was adept at schooling his face into an absolutely bland expression that told nothing of what the wearer was thinking. Or perhaps I had just gotten better at reading Théodred's feelings.

Éomer stood uncomfortably and went out after telling Théodred he needed to go think for a bit, leaving the prince and me alone together in the tent. I blushed, wondering what exactly Éomer needed to think about—my ineptitude as a nurse/babysitter? Théodred leaned forward and somehow guessed at my thoughts, saying, "It's all right, Saffi. He'll come around. He's just not used to girls being so…uh, forthright."

Well, that was one way to put it. "You mean foolish and irresponsible?"

"No," he shot back at once. "It's not the usual excuse, that's all."

"You mean there have been others?"

"Like you? Goodness, no," he said, chuckling at the thought. His eyes were full of mischief and merriment. He looked nice when he smiled like that, I thought absently. Not so regally handsome, but boyishly attractive all the same.

We talked for a bit about the pros and cons of female warriors and somehow moved into national defense and border hot spots. We were just debating the best way to defend a mountain pass when Éomer returned. He looked rather surprised to hear our topic of conversation, commenting drily, "Lady Saffi, just because he's your liege doesn't mean you should let him ramble on such boring topics."

Théodred feigned outrage. "What do you mean 'I'm boring'? Just because you have a short attention span doesn't mean that you have to push your faults onto me!"

"Then why do I so often fall asleep during your speeches and no one else's?"

"Nonsense! Saffi's not sleeping right now!"

Unfortunately at that moment my traitorous mouth decided to heave a giant yawn. Éomer let out a triumphant "Ha!"

Théodred looked at me with some concern. "You didn't bore me at all," I said to reassure him. "I'm just tired. It's been a long day, that's all."

He stepped toward me. "You should go to bed, then."

"Oh, don't go. I'm fine," I said hurriedly. I rose from my chair to show just how fine I was, but I stumbled in doing so.

"No, you're not," he said calmly, catching me as I fell. "You're tired; there are circles under your eyes. Come along, Saffi." He half-carried, half-herded me to the cot. Suddenly I felt very tired indeed. My eyes could barely stay open. Théodred grasped my arms as support, and I leaned slightly into him to steady myself. He smelled nice; it was a fragrant odor, nameless yet oddly compelling.

Next thing I knew, I was somehow in bed with the blanket tucked snugly about me. As I drifted off, for some reason I thought I felt lips brush my forehead in a gentle, reassuring kiss. Before I could wake up enough to wonder about this, I was sound asleep. And for once, no dreams came to disturb my slumber.

* * *

The next morning I awoke to a strange mixture of smells: the lingering scent of burned orc flesh and the growing smell of something good cooking. The enemy dead had been lit afire some time last night; today we would burn the pyre of our own dead with full honors. But for right now, breakfast was more important than either.

I scrambled out of bed and went to the riverside. After splashing some of the ice-cold water into my face, which woke me up rapidly, I set off in search of some food. At the campsite, men were huddled around various fires, roasting meat on spits. I didn't care to learn just what they were cooking, but neither could I really be bothered to wonder about it. Food was food, and the joy of being alive, of even being able to eat, was enough to make me forget any concerns I might otherwise have felt about a prospective meal. If was warm and wasn't putrid, I would probably have eaten it.

I moseyed around cautiously. I caught a glimpse of Danmarr on the far side of the camp. He looked to be having the time of his life helping out with the horses. I, on the other hand, didn't know any of these men; nor did I wish to impose myself on them. Then someone tapped my shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss?"

I looked up. I had no idea what his name was, but I vaguely remembered him from the day before. We had mutually rescued each other from tight spots in battle. He spoke carefully. "I'm Colm, miss; I was wondering if you would like to dine with me and my crew?"

I grinned. "It would be a pleasure. Oh, and my name is Saffi."

We set off toward a nearby fire. The smell emanating forth was heavenly. Colm turned to the other men and introduced me as 'the little girl who saved his life.' I couldn't help adding that since he had promptly returned the favor we were even. The other men looked at me curiously but introduced themselves and welcomed me to their circle all the same. There was a moment of awkward silence, until Colm, who seemed easier with my presence than the others, asked the question apparently on the tip of everyone's tongue.

"So what exactly brought you out here?"

I wavered, uncertain as to how much of my tale I was allowed to tell. Just then Théodred happened by. I caught his eye in desperation; he nodded. _How much?_ I tried to say with a slight shake of my head. He paused for a moment and then mouthed back _Everything. Tell them everything._

So once again I spilled my story. I had meant to only tell events starting at finding Danmarr, but the men were practically spilling over with questions, and somehow I ended up telling them about the spy from the beginning. (However, I did tweak the story a bit so as to omit my presence in Théodred's bedroom.) Théodred was still hovering nearby for some odd reason, and several men turned to him for verification. He merely nodded and stayed silent.

When I finished, the men all glanced at each other; they were obviously reaching some sort of consensus. Then Colm turned to me and said with a smile, "Well, miss, welcome to war! How are you liking it so far?" The others roared with laughter; then they actually began to engage me in conversation. I had passed the test.

Then someone poked at the spit, and everyone turned his attention to the food. Théodred must have slipped off when I wasn't looking; I was too busy trying not to noticeably salivate at the prospect of eating to pay that much attention to anyone. Soon plates were dished up, and we all settled down to feast on—"Fresh Warg, Lady Saffi, a rare delicacy!"

Almon handed the bowl to me with a flourish; I curtseyed in an exaggerated manner, ignoring the fact that I was still clad in leggings. We spent breakfast enjoyably, telling silly stories about ourselves and people we knew.

* * *

After the burial, the Éored were ready to move. Théodred and Éomer spoke the rites; as the lone woman in camp, I started to sing the songs of remembrance (somewhat awkwardly), but I was soon joined by many soldiers wishing to pay their respects to fallen friends. Apparently this was the usual practice when no women were present. I found it sweet and sorrowful all at once.

Now we were returning to Alricsloft to regroup and lick our wounds, so to speak. The captains set a slow pace for the injured. I rode with Colm's company and tried not to think about what would happen to me when we got back to the village. I didn't want to consider my life after the Éored left for good; although some of the scariest moments of my life had occurred in these last six months, I had made some good friends. Like Théodred. He was, I realized, one of the best men I had ever known, and it would hurt to watch him leave.

But on the subject of men I knew, what would Father say when we returned? I cringed at the thought. His only daughter, running off with a bunch of men and getting embroiled in battle… Ah, well. I sighed at the long admonishment I would most certainly receive. In fact, I could probably write out his speech now working from memories of the many past lectures on good behavior. _Daughter, as a part of this family, you are expected to behave with a certain level of class and dignity—propriety, as it were… _I groaned. Audibly, apparently, for it caught someone's attention.

"What's the matter, Lady Saffi?"

I looked up, forcibly pulled back to the present from the murky depths of my dark musings. It was Éomer. "Oh, nothing, my lord," I said. He quirked one eyebrow questioningly. "I was just thinking…"

He chuckled slightly. "I should hope so; it would be worrisome if you weren't. Oh, hello, cuz." Théodred had let his horse fall back in the column as well.

I looked from one Marshal to the other. "Sirs, I can't help but ask—if both of you are here, who is leading the column?"

Théodred waved his hand vaguely. "I got my deputy marshal to do it—Grimbold."

Éomer rolled his eyes. "Is there anything you don't conscript that poor man to do?"

Théodred scowled. "For your information, my dear_ boy_, I only enlist his services when they are absolutely necessary, unlike another marshal I could mention."

Éomer opened his mouth to reply. I decided to end the interaction; I had some questions of my own.

"Why are both of you here?" I asked innocently. "I mean, shouldn't you each be defending your own particular piece of the Mark?"

"Yes and no," replied Éomer thoughtfully. "You see, Lady Saffi, the main threat is from the western front, and although we've only wrangled one Éored to currently defend it, Théodred insisted that we have an extra captain with more expertise to organize defenses. That way we've still got more strategic options. Your village is conveniently located so that we're not too far from most parts of the border. And my deputy is taking care of things in Eastfold, I assure you."

Interesting. _Why only one Éored when two had obviously been needed?_ And Théodred's mouth had twisted strangely when his cousin had spoke of having but one Éored at their disposal.

To change the subject I inquired, "When will you be returning to Edoras?" Surely Théodred would want to see his father again; he and Éomer had been away at Alricsloft now for over six months.

Éomer and Théodred exchanged glances. Théodred looked away, his mouth twisting again and then falling into a set line. Éomer took it upon himself to hem and haw through an unlikely explanation about how it was just so necessary for them to stay out here as long as they were supposedly needed.

Obviously there was something else going on here. I wondered what could await them at Edoras that was so horrid as to negate the joy of reuniting with their family. Then I thought of the person the spies had been working for—Wormtongue. Maybe he was one of the reasons to stay at Alricsloft.

Éomer decided to return to the head of the column, citing a need to have a discussion with some captain riding ahead. Théodred was forced to move away soon after when some of the men had specific questions for them. I didn't mind the loss of Théodred's company so much (he was only a few feet away, for starters) for the conversation had given me much food for thought—not about what they had said, but about what they hadn't.


	8. Plans and Alcohol

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the village of Alricsloft, its inhabitants, and some random soldiers who Tolkien never named (so now they're MINE! Mwahahahahaha...).

Anyway, have fun with it. And sorry, not that much romance this chapter unless you count Théodred's drunken musings and Saffi (finally) starting to notice him as something more than a punching bag/boy to be rescued. I really had way to much fun writing this chapter. Oh, and be warned: Théodred and Éomer _are_ soldiers, so they have a similarly colorful vocabulary...

* * *

"Well, we're back."

There was Alricsloft, looking much the same as it had before. It felt odd. So much had happened in the past few days; it seemed unfair somehow that with so much change in our lives nothing here should be different. But then I was caught up in an unexpected rush of affection for my village. Perhaps its very virtue was that it didn't change: that no matter what evils occurred outside its walls, inside Alricsloft life would continue at the slow comforting pace it always took.

Then I glimpsed the rooftop of my home and winced.

"Don't worry, Saffi, it will be fine," soothed Théodred.

"Right he is, miss," Colm asserted. The men nearby all voiced their agreement. I sat up a little straighter. With friends like these, what did I have to worry about, indeed?

Danmarr, who was riding next to me, asked wonderingly, "But Saffi, you're a hero! Why would anyone be angry at you?"

* * *

When we reached the front gate before my house Théodred dismounted and then turned to me. "May I help you down, my lady?" His voice was teasing, but his eyes said that he was in earnest. I held my hand out to him, swinging one leg over the back of my mare. Then I was being lifted off the horse and then set gently on the ground. I looked up into Théodred's bright blue eyes.

We were standing close, very close. Suddenly I was very aware of him—the way he smelled, how close he stood, each individual golden whisker on his face, the smile-lines in the corners of his eyes, how warm his hands were. His hands? I realized belatedly that he was still holding my waist. He must have come to the same realization, for he abruptly let go of me, hurriedly turning to the people now rushing out of the house.

There was Father, already tersely exchanging proprieties with Éomer. And there was Sodred. I was instantly overwhelmed with guilt: my brother's face was etched with worry.

Without further ado, Théodred handed me forward. "I believe we found something of yours."

Then Sodred embraced me tightly. "Oh, Saffi," he whispered. "I was so worried about you."

"I'm sorry," I said into his shoulder. "I won't do it again, I can assure you." I attempted to inhale with difficulty. "Um, Sodred? I can't breathe…"

"Sorry," he grinned, releasing me from the suffocating hug. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you later," I promised. "It's a long story."

"You can say that again," Théodred grumbled. When Sodred turned way to greet Éomer, Théodred added in a voice so low only I could hear, "Perhaps we could keep you on a tether?"

I flushed. "And how about we keep you in a muzzle?"

* * *

Two hours later, the Éored were comfortably housed in their usual abodes, the injured were being tended to, the traitor was being kept under close surveillance by Colm's company, and I had settled down to a nice long bath. _Baths are nice_, I thought absently, trying and failing to run a comb through my knotted hair. Finally, a chance to settle down with my thoughts and queries. First, that beastly Wormtongue. Second, Théodred's reluctance to return to the capital. Third, the fact that only one Éored was present when the battle at the fords had clearly shown more were needed. I had a sinking feeling that these three were somehow connected. But to be sure, I needed more information. What to investigate first?

I ducked my face into the water. Wormtongue seemed to be the crux of the matter, somehow. He had been the one who the spies were working for, but since no one had spoken of punishing Wormtongue along with his two followers for treachery, he obviously had some sort of power and influence. Which might well have something to do with the lack of resources and Théodred's shying away from his home. _Or not._

I sighed into the water, blowing soapy bubbles. I needed to get more information, but how? On the subject of Wormtongue, Colm, Almon, and the rest had been disturbingly reticent. No one in the village would know anything about it; most were perfectly content with remaining isolated from the outside world. What I really needed was to hear what Théodred and Éomer had to say on the matter. But there was no way they would divulge their private thoughts and suspicions. Not to mention the fact that they had admitted to me that although there was a problem-that-must-not-be-named-and-only-they-could -face, they didn't actually have a plan on how to fix it. And there was no way to make them talk. Unless…

* * *

"Anwyn?" The older girl turned and looked at me and Elise with obvious surprise. I, too, was rather surprised at myself. I had never been inside the tavern before. I still had my qualms about this—after all, this was going to take a _lot_ of alcohol, and I had no idea if what kind of classified information I was about to be hearing, not to mention that I didn't actually know Anwyn very well—but it was the best (and only) plan that had even a modicum of possible success. Even Elise agreed with me on that score.

"Saffi?" She smiled warmly at me. "I've heard so much about you from your brother. Elise, how are you? What can I do for you?"

Elise elbowed me in the ribs. Right. "I need your help for something. It's really important… and no one should know about it." I hoped Sodred's assessment of her as a 'fun-loving girl who isn't afraid of adventure' hadn't been _too_ far off the mark. "Maybe we should talk somewhere more—"

"Private?" she asked in a low voice. "Come with me upstairs." Elise and I acquiesced. She led us up several flights of stairs until we reached a large, stuffy attic, which was well boxed off from the rest of the tavern. No worries about anyone overhearing us up here.

Anwyn looked at us expectantly. "Well?" So I explained the problem and the possible solution, with Elise chipping in to add any and all pertinent details I forgot. When I finished, Anwyn grinned widely. "Sounds good. Count me in."

* * *

_Step 1: Bait the trap._ _Step 2: Lure the prey. _

It appeared that Sodred's advice on how to catch one's prey applied to humans as well as animals. Step 1 had been easy—getting a couple giant kegs of the tavern's most potent ale—and Step 2 embarrassingly so. I had merely asked the two Marshals if they would like to share a drink with my friends and I in the kitchens after supper, and both had instantly agreed.

Now I took another swallow of ale to keep up appearances. Lucky I had a brother to teach me how to drink this stuff. Théodred and Éomer, although they had already drank about seven giant mug-fulls of ale each, were only now beginning to get tipsy.

Théodred turned to me. "Saffi, my dear, drink up," he ordered abruptly. I took a reasonable gulp and was rewarded with another drained mug on his part. Éomer quickly followed suit. Anwyn promptly refilled both mugs. Elise took a tiny sip of her ale and scowled at me. Obviously she hadn't had the chance to become accustomed to its strong flavor.

"My lords," I asked smoothly. "Is the drink to your liking?"

"Oh, yes, sweet," Théodred slurred. Elise leaned over to me and whispered teasingly, "Saffi, did something happen between you two that I should know about?"

"Of course not. And anyway, he has no idea what he's saying. He's drunk." I returned my attention to the other side of the table.

"What do women have against liquor, anyway?" Éomer was harping. "My sister says I shouldn't indulge, but she's shilly." Okay, so the alcohol was getting to him, too. Good. "It's not like it makes us do things we don't want… it just lowers—" he hiccupped—"one's inbihi…bihini…inhibititionsss…" He tossed his head back and emptied his mug.

"Is it time yet?" Elise asked a bit impatiently.

Anwyn nodded. "I think they're far gone enough."

"Alright," I said. Finally. "I heard this name, Théodred," I began cautiously. "Wormblood… or was it Tongueworm?"

"Wormtongue," he growled at the table. "Nasty piece of filthy shit."

Éomer's ears pricked up—as best they could for a drunk man. "Bastard… wants my sister. Alwaysh watching… Can't say anything."

"Why not?" Elise asked in a soothing voice.

Théodred slammed his mug on the table, spilling some ale. "Dad… slimy fucker is adviser to King. My father," he pointed out unnecessarily. "Git wanted me to leave defenshes open," he complained, gesturing with his mug. More ale sloshed out. He took a swig, then continued. "Trying to worm his way into power… wormy fucking Wormtongue, get it?" He laughed at his own joke. I grimaced.

Éomer was not to be outdone, letting loose a string of curses that could probably peel the paint off wood. "Implies I dun know what I's doing ash marshal. Telling uncle wash to do, wat to say… hate his wormy, grimy ass… would kill him, but no proof, the bastard…"

Well, then. "I think it's time for you lads to go to bed," I said. I'd heard enough about Wormtongue—and sufficient profanities to win me a round of cursing against Colm, for Béma's sake.

With the help of Anwyn and Elise, I managed to guide the two Marshals upstairs to their rooms. I managed Théodred by myself while the others handled Éomer—partly because Théodred was more steady on his feet than his cousin and partly because Théodred had not allowed anyone but me to touch him. We followed the staggering trio of my friends and Éomer upstairs. Théodred had an arm round me, supposedly for balance, although his hand traveled an awful lot for him to be relying on it for support. Eventually, though, we got both Marshals in bed, snoring as soon as their heads hit their pillows.

We regrouped downstairs. As we cleaned up, Anwyn warned, "Saffi, I would not let them see you tomorrow if you can help it."

"Why?"

"Because if they remember that you're the one who got them drunk…"

Elise grinned wickedly. "Are they going to be seriously hung-over or _what_?"

* * *

The next morning I rose at the usual hour and snuck down the corridor as quietly as I could, joining my brother at breakfast in the dining parlor as nonchalantly as I could. Then I slipped out of the house to the stables. As I brushed down the mare who had accompanied me on the past days' adventures, I mulled over all I had learned.

My suspicions had been correct; Wormtongue was the reason for all the recent misery and tension between the cousins. But how could his hold over Théoden King be loosened when Théodred and Éomer's past attempts had all clearly failed? I looked at the horse in frustration. She snorted and nosed at my pockets, searching for the apples I usually kept stashed there. The horse was right, I decided. I had to try to do something. What would show the king once and for all that his so-trusted advisor was a liar and a fraud, not to mention a traitor? Wormtongue had to be caught in the act.

I dug around in my pockets for an apple absentmindedly. Aha, there it was. I pulled it out, and the mare lunged for it. I pulled away. She glared at me. We went back and forth for a bit, her lunging and me ducking away and under to dodge each attack. Finally she realized that her current strategy wasn't working. Instead the mare stopped moving and stood away docilely. I relaxed my grip in relief. Then she head-butted me, causing me to drop the apple in surprise.

As she munched on the apple contentedly, I watched her carefully. Her tactics seemed familiar somehow. And that's when it hit me—we needed to follow the same strategy when working with Wormtongue! We would have to trick him into a false sense of security, then show him up with the truth. I practically skipped out of the stables. This just might work.

* * *

I snuck up to my room to get some quills and parchment. As I gathered up the things, I heard movement coming from Théodred's room. _Oh, dear._ I should have got out of there quickly. _Too late_, I thought with a sinking heart, as I heard his door being closed incredibly gently. Someone tried to knock on my door, then groaned at the noise. I took the opportunity to climb out my window. It was bitter cold outside, but better that than face an irate prince. I giggled at what he must look and feel like. I'd better tell Ama to send up some of her anti-hangover tea that she always made for Sodred after a late night out.

* * *

After relaying the message to an amused and concerned Ama (who eyed me suspiciously, but was luckily distracted by a serving maid), I headed out the door. The building where the spy was being held lay in the very middle of the Éored's sleeping quarter section of the village.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor and looked in. Almon was currently keeping watch. I beckoned him over.

"Could I have a word in private with him?"

Almon looked confused. "Why, Miss?"

"Just trust me. It'll be fine, Almon, I promise." _Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a pound_.

Almon went to stand in front of the door, leaving me alone in the room with the former spy. I hadn't seen him since I had tended his leg after the battle. It felt like years ago.

"Hallo," I said. "How's that leg of yours?"

He blinked, disoriented. "Er… it's doing alright, I guess." He shrugged as best he could given that he was tied up.

"I'm Saffi. May I check your leg, mister…?"

"Bæhelm, Miss."

I bent down next to him to inspect it. I also untied his arms and legs—supposedly so I could better check his injury, but really to make him more at ease. While I did so, I told him about some exercises to help strengthen the muscles (Ama had made me do these exercises when I had broken my own leg some five summers ago).

We relaxed into light conversation. I pulled out the parchment, quills, and ink. We were talking about horses, so I sketched some, including my favorite mare, the one I had ridden to the Fords of Isen. "Have you named her yet?" Bæhelm asked.

I hadn't really thought about it. Father never let us name the horses because it would cause too many problems when they were sold. _But it can't hurt to name just one_, I decided. "How about Mai?"

He smiled and, taking up the quill, wrote under the drawing, "Mai, Warrior Horse" in excellent Westron. Perfect.

That was all I really needed. I managed to wrap up the conversation smoothly, drawing it back to his leg and ways to treat it. Then I gathered up all my things, said goodbye to Almon, and went back to the stables.

* * *

I had just left Mai's stall and was preparing to make a dash to my room without some angry marshals noticing me when someone grabbed me from behind. Before I could make a sound, a warm hand had covered my mouth, and I was pulled into a neighboring stall. I was about to fight free when I was released and sent tumbling onto the straw-covered dirt.

Théodred was glaring down at me. "Why did you get us drunk last night?"

I scowled. "I wasn't the one who kept drinking. _Pour me another! Pass me more ale_," I mimicked scornfully. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you the meaning of self-restraint?"

"I was taught that it was improper for a man to let a lady drink alone."

"Oh, so it was completely necessary for you to drink a mugful every time I took a sip?"

Théodred growled and looked as though he might throttle something. I got to my feet and made to go. He blocked my way. "Will you please let me by!" I demanded, pushing at him to move. It was impossible. I drew myself up to my full not-so-imposing height and glared back at him.

What was wrong with me? Every time I was near him my mind stopped working properly and instead started noticing random details, like how very bright his eyes were, the shade of each individual hair round his face, his kind mouth… which was now set in an increasingly familiar straight line. Bother. I waited for him to yell at me. I had to admit, I kind of deserved it for getting him drunk on purpose.

Instead, he sighed gustily. Somehow he had gotten hold of my hands. It felt nice, him holding them. His warm hands enveloped mine gently, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. I swallowed hard. Why did I feel so strange?

"Saffi, I'm sorry I yelled at you." His blue eyes caught and held my own.

Now it was my turn to feel guilty. How did he do this to me? "No, I'm sorry. I did get you drunk on purpose," I admitted.

He let go of my hands as if they were red-hot iron. "You WHAT?"

"No one would tell me anything about Wormtongue except 'I-can't-say-anything-and-I'm-powerless-to-make-a- change' stuff. So I elicited some information from you and Éomer and came up with a plan of my own. Well, kind of…" I trailed off under his gaze. "I'm sorry, but you weren't telling me anything!"

"Because it was none of your business!" He paced a circle in the dirt, then whirled around, catching my hands in his again. I fought to keep my heartbeats normal. "Horse Lords, Saffi, what all did I say last night?"

"Well, besides a bunch of informative slurs on his mother, after-hours habits, and general appearance…"

"Saffi…" His voice was low and soft, dangerously so, a growl so smooth it was almost a purr. I blinked. A girl could lose herself in that voice—no, no, what was I thinking? _Get it together, Saffi! You lived through a battle! Surely you can conquer this…_

I recollected my surroundings. "You said that Wormtongue was advisor closest to the King. You implied that he had some sort of power over your father… And Éomer thinks he's got designs on his sister."

A pause… and then: "How many mugs did I drink exactly?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Eight or nine…"

He chuckled. "Bema! I haven't had that much in years!" He cast me a sidelong glance. Goodness, even his eyelashes were blonde. "So what exactly is this plan of yours?"

"Well, you're going to be temporarily dead."


	9. Satisfaction Lost

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the main character, the village, and some soldiers Tolkien never named. Enjoy!

* * *

It was getting late in the evening when I managed to get my brother alone. He had spent most of the day, as was his wont, hanging round Anwyn. But eventually (finally!) she had to go home, and Sodred turned from the doorway once she was out of sight.

I intercepted him before he could go anywhere.

"Saffi!"

"Hello, brother dear," I drawled.

"What do you want from me?" he asked suspiciously. "You're never this nice to me without a reason."

"Well, actually I need you to forge a note."

"What for? Is this illegal?" We'd gotten into some trouble a few years ago for tricking greedy merchants (and occasionally Father) into fake contracts.

"Sanctioned by the prince of the Riddermark himself," I assured him solemnly.

Sodred groaned. "Why does that make me even more scared?"

"All you have to do is copy out a note in the sample's handwriting. No illegal contracts at all. Just a short note from one person to another. Please, Sodred?"

He frowned. "Give me one good reason."

Let's see here… the future of Rohan might depend on it? "It's for the prince and Lord Éomer. It's a worthy cause, I can assure you. And they'll be there, dictating for you. So it's all them. I'm just the messenger." I flashed him my most innocent smile.

"Hmph," my brother muttered, but he followed me up the stairs.

* * *

Théodred and Éomer were waiting in my room when we arrived, although it took a bit more convincing when Sodred actually read what he was supposed to be copying down. But eventually we had a letter on the spy's own parchment (and in his handwriting) that looked something like this:

_My Lord Wormtongue most revered and powerful,_

_Sir, I write to inform you that your will has been done. The prince is dead, killed in fighting at the Crossings of Isen. My comrade unfortunately fell in battle as well, but not before delivering the fateful blow. All those watching thought it was an orc that did the deed, for those near the prince had already been slain and the fighting around him was too thick for any Rohirric eye to penetrate._

_Your humble servant,_

_Bæhelm_

It was as similar in style and tone to the other letters to Wormtongue as I could make it. Now, if we were lucky, he would swallow the bait.

* * *

I went to the spy's residence. Colm was standing guard and looking a bit sour about having to do so. I got Théodred to pull him aside where the spy couldn't hear and convince him to let me guard the spy in his stead. It didn't take long.

I went into the room and cracked the window open, commenting that the room felt stuffy and oppressive. The cold air from outside was indeed a slap to the face—and woke me up like one too. Then I resumed conversation with Bæhelm and ignored his frequent glances at the open window. Then I saw a sudden rush of movement outside, and I ducked under the table—just in the knick of time.

A raven came flying in. Bæhelm stammered out that he wasn't ready, that he needed more time. The raven began pecking at his fingers. I slipped him the rolled-up note to give to the bird, whispering, "Would this scrap work for now?"

Without even pausing to look at it, Bæhelm thrust the scroll at the raven. The raven snatched the parchment from the man's trembling fingers and set off back through the night.

I waited a minute before crawling out from under the table. Bæhelm looked at me fearfully. "I'm so sorry, Miss," he whispered frantically. "I didn't make it come! I swear!"

"It's okay." I tried to assuage his fears. "I know. It was my idea to open the window, if you recall." I didn't mention the fact that he had obviously known what was going to happen.

* * *

Once my shift ended and another came to take my place with the spy, I returned to the house practically bouncing on my toes. Théodred was waiting at the top of the stairs, and I was so distracted by success, I practically ran into him. He caught me up and twirled me round the hall as I babbled "It worked! It worked!" over and over.

When he finally set me down, he didn't let go of me straight away. As we stood together in the hallway, something struck me. My heart clenched. "I'm sorry, Théodred."

He looked down at me in slight confusion. "What for, O wise one?"

"Your father—the news of your death…" Théodred stiffened. Then he pulled me closer in his arms. I rested my head on his chest. "I'm so sorry," I whispered again.

He pulled away and cupped my face in his hands. "Saffi, listen to me. That man has an unholy power over my father, and you have figured out how to end it! And now you're apologizing? You do realize that I am once again in debt to you?" He hugged me. "Silly, wonderful girl."

"Will you be heading back to Edoras soon, then?"

"The day after tomorrow, I think."

I bit my lip. So soon! But it made sense. It was what he should do, what I had planned for him to do… I forced a smile, but it came out more a grimace. "You will be missed, my lord."

He gave me a strange look. "And what about you, Saffi? Will you miss me?"

"Of course I will!" I said in a false light-hearted manner. I couldn't let him see my reaction; no doubt he would think me silly, crying whenever a loved one left like the helpless maidens in those soppy ballads. And I didn't even love him! "I said _we_, didn't I?"

"Yes," he mumbled. "Well, I have to be going." Why did he look so disappointed?

I couldn't let him go like this, but I didn't know what I wanted or even what I could say without breaking down entirely.

He sighed. "Good-night, my—" He stopped, bit his lip, and practically ran down the stairs.*

* * *

The Éored departed the day Théodred had said they would. I watched them go with a heavy heart. Why did it hurt so much to watch Théodred leave? I had been separated from friends before, but it had never hurt like this. This was a feeling of deep, aching personal loss.

"Saffi?" I turned away from the window. "Saffi, you've been staring out the window for the last thirty minutes! There's no way you can still see them," my brother said accusingly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were mooning over a certain royal someone."

I flushed. "Am not! And anyway, at least I'm not as bad as you and Anwyn!"

"Hey, at least I know my feelings are reciprocated!"

Ouch. That hurt more than I cared to admit. Perhaps because it would mean that I did have feelings for a 'certain someone.' Which I was sure I didn't. Horse Lords, I didn't know _how_ I felt anymore. I pushed past my brother and ran down the stairs outside, all the way to the tree where I had first caught sight of Théodred and his Éored. The air was biting, but I didn't care. The truth was, I felt afraid. And for the first time in my life, there was nothing I could do about it.

* * *

**END OF PART I**

* * *

*This line was shamelessly stolen from Charlotte Bronte's _Jane Eyre_. With a few minor adjustments, of course.


	10. Love and Other Mishaps

Disclaimer: Grand Master Tolkien owns everything except my village, its inhabitants, and some personalities of people he never named.

_Nota bene_: Any blocks of text in italics are outside the first-person narrative; they are in third person and chronicle events that are significant but technically outside the main storyline.

* * *

**PART II**

_"We almost always forgive that which we understand" (Lermontov)_

* * *

I shall begin by saying here that it was all Sodred's fault.

He was most definitely the reason why I was now tied up in the middle of a camp of Dunlendings, my people's mortal enemies. I looked around at all these dark-haired people speculatively. I might be short in my village, but here I was the same height or taller than most of the men present. And my hair, although brownish by my standards, was a much lighter and blonder shade than theirs. I had always thought I didn't look very Rohirric, but clearly I did. It just wasn't as obvious when I was surrounded by other tall blond people.

Uh, oh. Someone was approaching. I looked up. It was a man with short, dark hair and a beard the same shade. He was a bit taller than the others, and they all looked at with him with varying degrees of awe. I decided that he was a chieftain of some sort.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded in heavily accented Rohirric.

Well, what did it look like? _I'm sitting here tied up_. But these men had very sharp daggers, so it might not be a good idea to make them angry. "I was out for a ride and wasn't paying attention where I was going," I admitted with perfect honesty.

"How do we know you are not a spy? You are obviously Rohirric."

"Trust me, if I had known I was going to land smack-dab in your camp, I wouldn't have been quite so loud about it. And if I were going to be spying, I probably wouldn't have ridden up, anyway. I would have snuck around on foot." It was a perfectly reasonable argument.

"Then how do you explain these?" The chief held up my daggers. They had found all of them. If these people weren't planning on killing me, my friends, and everyone I held dear, I would have rather liked them—they obviously appreciated the same weapons I did.

"Sir, look at me: a young maid of marriageable age out on a ride alone during wartime. If you had a daughter, would you let her go on such a ride without some sort of protection?"

"I would not have let her go out in the first place."

_Good point._ I changed tactics. "_You_ don't travel without weapons to protect yourself. Why shouldn't I do the same?"

The chieftain ignored me and barked out something to his second-in-command, who swiftly scurried away. He returned with another man. This one had longer hair that was silvered with age. He looked me straight in the eye with a knowledgeable glance. I shivered. At first he seemed just a harmless old man, but his gaze was wise and assessing. He turned to the chieftain and said something in a low voice—not that it really mattered, since they were speaking a different language.

At last the chieftain turned back to me. "I think we should just kill you now and have done with it, but Gwyddon says we should test your skill with daggers since you carry them. If you win, you live. If you lose…" He shrugged nonchalantly.

"When will this fight be?" I asked defiantly. There was no way I was going to let them see how scared I was.

"Now," he replied and motioned to a follower. The next moment the ropes round me were cut and I was forcefully helped to my feet.

I looked round at my captors. "Whom shall I have the pleasure of fighting?"

"The greatest of our people, most skilled with the dagger."

The feeling of dread, which had been steadily drowning out my numb terror for the last ten minutes, now attempted to gain full possession. "And who is this person?"

The chieftain flashed me a wolf's grin: the humorless bared teeth of a predator.* "Me."

Yes, this was definitely Sodred's fault.

* * *

A few days after Théodred had departed, I had finally reconciled myself to once again living the ho-hum mundane existence of Alricsloft. It was reassuring, in a way, to know that no matter what events of great political magnitude might be occurring somewhere else (namely Edoras—for I did wonder whether my plot to upstage Wormtongue and his machinations had been successful), the horses would still need feeding and the stables would still need to be mucked out.

Not that I particularly enjoyed such a life. I would do my chores and then retreat, either to my room or the garden or indeed anywhere I could be guaranteed a few hours' worth of time alone. Elise would often accompany me. Sometimes we would read together (she was still teaching me Sindarin and helping me along with my rather limited Westron); sometimes I helped her with drawing and painting (things Father had insisted I learn as a lady and I had, to my utter surprise, actually liked).

I never spoke of any feelings toward Théodred to anyone, not even myself.

* * *

The weather had warmed up some; although the nights were chill and the breeze still sharp, the air had lost its biting edge and had begun to soften. Spring was coming to the Mark at last.

I, for one, looked forward to it eagerly; spring meant that I could actually wander around outside without worrying about freezing to death. Sodred and some of his friends were apparently eager as well, as they had decided to go on a hunting expedition for a few days. Personally, I thought it was still too cold for such a trip, but Sodred had pulled me aside and told me in private that they would be circumspectly patrolling the borders a bit – at the prince's asking, apparently. So I watched them go with misgivings, yes, but only the sort that one always gets when a group of young men are about to go 'have fun' together for a week or so.

They returned dirty and smelly with stories. Lots. Apparently near the Forest of Fangorn they had come across a troop of orcs and made short work of them. Then they had encountered three travelers—a man, an Elf, and a Dwarf! I know, completely unbelievable, right? (Sodred had loosed an uncharacteristic scowl at this comment.) The three travelers had then requested some horses, but since our boys had had none to spare, they had told the strange group to come to Alricsloft instead. The trio had declined the offer. Apparently they had to first find their two friends, who were "hobbits," whatever those were.

Even I wouldn't have believed him if Elise hadn't backed up Sodred's description of the Elf. She had seen them in Dale when she was younger. As it was, I wondered about them a few times (like why the Elf and Dwarf hadn't killed each other yet, since the stories said the two races hated each other with a vengeance), but I thought more about Théodred and how he was faring in Edoras than my brother's strange adventures. No one else gave much credence to the tale.

Two days later, a Man, an Elf, a Dwarf, _and_ a Maia showed up on our front doorstep requesting horses.

* * *

I was sitting in the doorway of the stables sketching a picture. When Sodred appeared with the four strangers, I leapt to my feet and managed to brush off most of the straw sticking to my clothes and hair. The man was tall, dark, and handsome, with compelling gray eyes. This was a man, I decided, whom others would follow to death and back. He had the looks of a king. (I couldn't keep myself from thinking of another with the same regal bearing, but blonde hair instead of brown.)

The Elf was perfectly handsome—and when I say perfect, I mean _perfect_. His hair was perfect, his face was perfect, his mouth was perfect… In my opinion, it detracted from his beauty, as if his perfection was somehow sterile. Perfection was all well and good, but it was the little faults and quirks that I loved in others—like the way one of Théodred's eyebrows was a bit darker than the other, how his mouth curved up at the corner when he was trying to be serious and failing, the warm smile-lines in the corners of his eyes. But I suppose the Elf wasn't attractive (beautiful, yes, but not attractive) by my definition precisely because of that—he wasn't human at all, and it showed.

The dwarf, on the other hand, was short and gruff but kindly once one got past the rather overwhelming beard and giant axe. He reminded me of the older warriors of my village, for he exuded the same kind of brusque heartiness and cheer.

As for the wizard, I liked him immediately even though his very presence was intimidating. He exuded power and wisdom, a not-too-common combination (at least among Men).

Sodred introduced me, and I bobbed a very good curtsy indeed. It helped that I actually had a skirt to curtsy with. (I would never admit this to my brother, but I don't _always_ mind dresses. And since the dress, like all in my clothes-chest, used to be Mother's, I rather liked wearing it around.)

The man was named Aragorn, but even as Sodred introduced him as such (in much better Westron than mine), he looked a bit discomfited by it, as though he wasn't used to using that name (at least not with strangers). My brother and I led them to the fastest horses remaining in our stables, which unfortunately included Mai. Aragorn must have noticed the look in my eyes when Sodred asked if they wanted her, for the man declined with the tiniest of bows in my direction. The group agreed to stay the night since it was nigh approaching dusk.

That night we had the first proper dinner since the Éored had departed. I was seated on the end at Gimli's left, and we quickly were engrossed in conversation. Gimli was the most honest and open of the four visitors; his blunt manner and good humor let him fit right in with us Eorlingas. The Elf, Legolas Greenleaf by name (from his bearing I thought he might be of royal blood, but it was hard to tell apart from what Elise had described as the "average Elven demeanor"), was more solemn and aloof, but it seemed to be because he didn't feel completely at ease rather than a natural condescension. I looked down to the other end of the table. Father had put the wizard on his left and the Lord Aragorn on his right (which was a brave choice, I thought, seeing as the wizard—Gandalf the White, he said—practically radiated power). Under a mask of perfect civility, all looked tired. Except for the Elf. He just looked as perfect as ever. It was actually bit scary.

I decided to start wrapping up the conversation. Sodred caught on quickly and, I have no idea how, got Father to agree to an end of the meal tactfully. To be honest, I was quite impressed. Perhaps Sodred should be hired as a diplomat for the Riddermark.

The group departed swiftly at the sun's rising, and I waved goodbye to Gimli, who turned and waved back, much to the annoyance of his fellow rider the Elf, who had to duck the swing of Gimli's arm as it pumped back and forth with enthusiasm.

* * *

Four days later, a royal messenger rode in. A large crowd of curious villagers gathered round as the news spread. My father swept out of the house in all his village-headman glory and nodded at the messenger to begin.

"By royal decree I am here to guide you to Dunharrow if you so wish," he recited. "A vast host from the wizard's tower does approach the Hornburg, and His Highness Prince Théodred has bid that all those nearby wishing to seek refuge at either the Hornburg or Dunharrow may do so. All able-bodied men should report to aid Théoden King at the Hornburg."

I stood in shock. The war was not yet over, but Théoden King had reassumed control and Théodred had resumed his rightful place by his father's side—which meant that Wormtongue had been ousted! I felt like doing a little jig right then and there. It had WORKED!

Wait, a vast host? All around me the others seemed to be undergoing the same shock. There was dead silence for a few moments, and then whispers began to spread, gradually building up into a wave of worried chatter and futile activity. I stood stock still. _The wizard's tower… A vast host… Seek refuge…_ Oh, no.

But before I could really start to grasp the implications, I was interrupted.

"Excuse me, Miss?" The messenger stood before me holding a sealed scroll of parchment. "Do you know where I can find the Lady Saffi? 'Cos I'm supposed to give this to her."

Oh. I glanced around. In the commotion following the messenger's announcement, no one was paying any attention to me (or the messenger; they were too busy scurrying back and forth in wonder and fear). "This is she," I managed. He handed it over. "May I ask who sent this?"

The messenger eyed me wonderingly. "The prince himself."

* * *

Meduseld, golden hall of the House of Eorl…

_The four travelers approached cautiously. "Why do we hesitate?" grumbled Gimli. The other two turned to face Mithrandir as well._

_"There have been…tales," he finally admitted. "Until a few days ago, it could be heard through all of Arda that Théoden King had an advisor with too much say and, it was rumored, ties to Isengard. But more recently the whispers have shifted—that Théoden regained his seat when his son Théodred returned to Edoras. I do not know what to believe or what kind of reception we shall receive. I fear the worst, yet something in my heart tells me it is not so."_

_They entered the city, which was alive and bustling with people hawking their wares, children running about, and, of course, horses. They were forced to slow their pace and eventually dismounted to walk like the rest of the crowd. A child ran up to Gandalf, stared mutely, then thrust out a buttercup to him and ran away. Legolas watched the child go. "I think this bodes well," he said finally to no one in particular._

_Gandalf fingered the flower thoughtfully and smiled._

_When they entered the hall at last, the doorkeeper Háma took one glance at Gandalf's staff and stepped aside. He had the look of a man who had seen much upheaval in the past few days and still wasn't quite sure what exactly was going on._

_Inside the hall was bright and warm, comfortably so rather than stifling. Servants made their way about, and at the end on the dais, seated on a great gilded chair, was Théoden son of Thengil, looking as though he had just walked forth from a great story of old. He looked like one who has just arisen from a long refreshing nap and now has the strength and cheer of ten men. Beside the chair stood the Prince Théodred and the Lord Éomer and nearby the Lady Éowyn, dressed in a long green dress with golden trimmings. Others thronged just at the edge of the dais, either partaking in conversation or simply milling and watching. All about was the feeling of spring awakening after a long, bitter winter._

_Then Théoden turned and caught sight of the newcomers. All fell silent. "Welcome, Gandalf, companions," the king said, his voice quiet but strong. "Come closer, please. I am still recovering from an … illness of sorts. I apologize for our disorder. We have just…" He trailed off and smiled affectionately at his son. "Shall we call it spring cleaning, Mithrandir?" …_

* * *

I held the letter in trembling hands. I was just about to open it when Sodred grabbed my arm and pulled me through the crowd of gathering villagers. "We're about to have an emergency council, and I don't care what Father says; you're coming to this one." It was no use. The letter would have to wait. I tucked it into a pocket and turned my mind to more pressing matters, like the giant army of monsters headed our way.

Once inside, I did my utmost to convince the village elders to evacuate. After seeing orcs up close and personal (not to mention ravaged farms like Ealdred's), I preferred to have thick stone in thicker layers between me and those beasts. But the only people who agreed with me were Sodred and Ælfred. The rest insisted that our village was far off the road from Isengard to Helm's Deep. Obviously they did not hold with the saying "better safe than sorry." The worst part was that after my opening remarks most stopped listening altogether. They had already made up their minds, and the meeting was just a show.

When we finally left Ælfred's home, the stars had risen high in the heavens. I was quivering with anger. I couldn't believe that men whom I had respected all my life had just decided to endanger the entire village. And for what? Because they were too lazy to pack up a bag and take a day's journey south? (The messenger had left hours ago, as had most of the adults of the village. They had trickled out gradually as the night waned and the moon rose.)

"I can't believe them!" I hissed as soon as we were well out of earshot. "How? How could they be so stupid?"

"Calm yourself!" Father said sternly. "Those men have years of experience. They know what's best."

I stopped dead in my tracks. "They do NOT. I was out there—I fought in the battle." Father and Sodred stared at me. (I must have conveniently forgotten to tell them the whole story of that day.) "I faced those orcs! I know what I speak of when I say that there is absolutely NO WAY Alricsloft could hope to survive a small raid! And there's a full-scale INVASION going on! Those orcs… do you know what they'll do to you?" I plunged on recklessly. "If they get you, they don't just kill you. You'll wish you never were born; you'll scream for death, because at least then the pain will end. I watched men die! And I could do _nothing_…" I trailed off and drew a deep breath. Then I went on to the house without looking back.

* * *

The next morning I woke early and remembered the letter from Théodred. I dressed hurriedly, gathered my things, and was headed for the garden when Sodred intercepted me outside Father's study. I tried to keep walking, but Sodred blocked my path. "Saffi, aren't you coming to breakfast—hey, what's that?" I groaned inwardly. He had spotted the letter.

"Must you rifle through my things every time you see me?" I asked evenly, trying to act as though this was just another incident of him being annoying. As though that letter didn't mean the world to me at this moment.

"Come on, Saffi, let me see it," Sodred said loudly. Too loudly. Father stepped out of the study. He swooped on me from behind and caught up the letter. He saw the royal seal and blanched.

"Where'd you get this?"

Sodred was eying me critically. "The messenger brought it, didn't he?"

I floundered.

"Is it from the prince?" Sodred guessed.

Father rounded on me. "It must be! But why would he be writing to you unless…" He stopped cold. "Saffi! How could you? I have let you run wild, I know, but I never thought you would sink to such a level! I cannot believe this—and a daughter of mine!"

I blinked. "What did I do?"

Father let loose a sound somewhere between a scream and a growl. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, you foolish, unprincipled girl! How—_why_? Why did you sleep with him? Why did you sleep with the prince?"

Wait—"What?" I yelped. "You think I—WHAT?" Sodred had blanched. I ignored him. Father thought that I had slept with Théodred?

"Come with me, young lady!" Father boomed. "You're not leaving that room of yours for a LONG time!"

This was not happening, could not be happening. Father grabbed my arm. "Your mother would be so ashamed," he hissed.

I froze. It seemed as though my mind had shut down. Father maneuvered me into my room with no trouble at all. I sat stock-still as the outside bolt slid and thudded into place. I sat still as he ranted and raged at Sodred for letting such a thing take place under his very nose. I sat still as the sounds of Father's angry footsteps slowly faded into the distance. Only the furious bang of his study door slamming shut downstairs eventually jolted me out of my stupor.

I stood slowly and went over to the window. I remembered the first time I had met Théodred, us standing there at the front gate, him intimidating and me intimidated but doing my best not to show it. How far I had come from that girl shaking in her boots.

Then I took my hair out and rebraided it with the spiked strap. I checked to be sure each dagger was sharpened completely. I switched into my plainest shirt and plainest pants. Next I pulled on my favorite boots. A once-over in the mirror for anything missing. And then I climbed out the window.

I made a brief stop outside the study. The shutters were closed, but Father never remembered to bolt them properly. I knew he wasn't inside, for I could hear him scolding Rynis two rooms down. I leapt lightly inside, grabbed Théodred's letter, and was soon on my way. I rode Mai blindly. I didn't know where I was going; nor did I care. All that mattered was that I needed to get away. I rode across the plains, up a ridge, down a ridge…

And straight into the Dunlending camp.

* * *

*This line about the wolf's grin is from Tamora Pierce's _Trickster's Queen_. Also, apparently buttercups represent joy.

**A/N**: I'm making the Dunlendings vaguely Welsh, for a few reasons. One, I like the Welsh names I've got picked out. More importantly, the relationship between the Rohirric and Dunlendish peoples seems much like that of the Welsh and Anglo-Saxons. The Dunlendings were the original inhabitants of the lands south of Fangorn, but the Rohirrim moved in (after being granted the land by Cirion, Steward of Gondor) and kicked them out, forcing the Dunlendings west. Likewise, the now-Welsh Britons were pushed west by the invading Anglo-Saxons. Thus the Welsh really hated the English, and the English soon felt likewise. Seeing as the Rohirrim already have Anglo-Saxon ties, I figured I would bring the analogy to its logical conclusion since the historical parallels are so very convenient.


	11. A Duel on Death

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Except for the plot, some villages Tolkien never named, and some people he never talked about. Warning: explicit violence and bloodshed. It's a duel-to-the-death, okay? Have fun...

* * *

So here I was, surrounded by hostile enemies who would have been more than happy to slit my throat if not for that old man's advice (What had been his name? Giddon?). I stretched my limbs, ignoring the looks I was receiving from the surrounding circle of Dunlending warriors gathered to see the show. Practically the entire camp had assembled. I swallowed hard; their numbers were large indeed. Had all these men truly left their homes just to destroy mine?

My daggers had been returned to me. I returned most to their arm and leg sheaths, keeping out two that now felt best in my hands. I felt more nervous than I had at the battle at the Fords of Isen. There I had, for one, had no idea what I was getting myself into, and I had also been entirely focused on my mission. Well, I was definitely focused now. As they say, the prospect of being hanged in the morning concentrates a person's mind wonderfully. What the saying failed to mention was that one's mind inevitably concentrates on the whole hanging business.*

I thought of the letter that had gotten me here and realized that I might very well depart this world without ever knowing what Théodred had written to me. My heart clenched. I looked around quickly; the chieftain hadn't arrived yet. Then I knelt at my discarded pack still lying in the grass and hurriedly pulled the scroll out, breaking the seal with trembling fingers.

_My dearest Saffi,_

_I know this is completely improper, yet here I am writing you a letter anyway. I will not take up your time with such flowery nonsense as is normally used in these situations. Our friendship has never followed any of the usual routes of propriety, after all. Tomorrow we ride to defend the Hornburg. I will not speculate my fate._

_Saffi, I—Heavens, I know not how to say this. I know not what to say. Let me try again. – No, it seems I cannot express myself in this infernal Westron.**_

_Saffi, take care of yourself. It is wartime, and who knows when we shall meet again. But when we meet, I will be rather upset with you if you are injured in any way. Please be careful. I will not tell you to stay put and let the men do the fighting—I know you too well for that—but I shall say to be safe. Be bold but not foolish. You are probably shaking your head at me right now, but you know it's true. All I ask is for you to take care. Please, Saffi?_

_I would say more, but the messenger shall be leaving soon. Fare well, Saffi._

_—Théodred_

I slid the letter back into my pack and stood just as the chieftain stepped forward. He had taken off his cloak, as had I, and now we stood before each other clad only in tunic and leggings. I wasn't cold at all, though; my entire body seemed to be thrumming with nervous energy. The thought of Théodred came unbidden into my mind, and I felt myself relax some.

Meanwhile the chieftain had called out something in Dunlendish. Now he gave the wolfy grin again, which was immediately echoed on many surrounding faces. I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was time.

I eased into a crouched stance as the chieftain began circling. I wasn't about to fight defensively only (perhaps the first warning any young fighter gets), but neither was I going to waste my energy running about in circles. He would come to me.

And come he did. Quick as lightning he darted at me, blades jabbing toward vulnerable areas. I met him full on, our daggers locking, testing each other. He was about my height, but he was much more muscular, giving him the advantage in such a test of strength. I slipped out from under him, and he staggered momentarily, caught by surprise at the maneuver. I used the opportunity to help him on his way down with the reliable favorite, nasty-throw-over-the-leg, but he twisted round in time and darted away. We returned to circling, waiting.

I attacked next. I had angled us both so that the sun was in his eyes and used his fleeting blindness to catch him off guard. He feinted to my left, but I wasn't fooled: his eyes had given him away. Our daggers locked again, this time perilously close to my throat. I twisted my wrist, sliding my dagger round his, and managed to slice his arm before ducking out of the way. It happened so very quickly that he nearly fell flat on his face. As he fell, though, he twisted to face me and caught at my legs, pulling me down with him. We landed on the ground wrestling.

He tried to hold me down but stupidly put his hand over my mouth. I, taking precedent from all the wrestling matches held with my brother, bit said hand. Hard. He let go of me instantly, and I rolled away and back onto my feet. He leapt onto his. For a split second we crouched but a few feet apart, staring into each other's eyes. Then he charged, aiming to get me round my knees. Instead at the last moment I knelt and caught his ankles, sending him tumbling down. I stabbed him in the bottom. He swore violently. (Well, he was speaking Dunlendish, so I don't know what exactly he was saying, but it sure sounded like he was swearing.)

The chieftain's fortitude was admirable: he was back on his feet in seconds, just as agile as before. (It was quite wondrous how he ignored the pain back there.) I smiled humorlessly to see the murderous look rising in his eyes. Pain made people angry, and anger made people rash, and rashness made people lose. He took my smile as a taunt and rushed toward me roaring so loudly I wondered vaguely whether Théodred could hear it (wherever he was).

The chieftain fought ruthlessly, savagely; each thrust I blocked or parried would have been a fatal blow. Sweat dripped down our faces. I ignored it and glared at him more fiercely still.

Then we simultaneously attacked once more. Our blades locked again; he slid his round, and I kicked one out of his sweaty grip. He immediately punched me low in the stomach and pulled another dagger from an arm sheath.

I reeled back in pain. The chieftain attempted to use my distraction to his advantage, aiming right at my throat. I dropped and rolled out of the way, coming up next to his leg. I stabbed his calf and was rewarded with another string of Dunlendish curses.

I surged to my feet and attacked again. This time it was he who twisted a dagger out of my own hands. I went to pull out another, but we were too close. I punched his nose instead—and then backed up quickly from his two incredibly sharp blades.

I pulled out another dagger as he adjusted to the blood now pouring down his face. Then we met again. He used all his weight to bear down on me. I twisted away, but he grabbed me from behind. A sudden wrench—and then—

I staggered away. My right arm was in such pain that I felt myself going into shock. The dagger fell from my fingers. Moving my arm, or rather attempting to move it, just sent fresh spasms of pain through my body. I risked a glance down at it. Definitely broken. I remembered how when Sodred and I would shout that we could take the other with one arm tied behind the back. It seemed as though I would now be testing that assumption.

The chieftain gave the wolf's grin again. Combined with the pain-induced rage already in his eyes and the blood covering his face, he looked almost demonic. I swallowed. I was definitely scared now. He lunged toward me, and I came to him as well (against all better instinct). For a few seconds the three daggers pushed against each other; then they slid apart. He was momentarily unarmed; my daggers rested directly against his heart.

Then he let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "I'm wearing mail, little one."

I couldn't help myself. "Well _shit_." Then he broke away, and I attacked.

I had slipped into that other, battle mode at the Fords of Isen, where my instincts had somehow taken control and pushed my mind to the side. But this time it was worse; it came on thrice faster and stronger. It felt as though my mind had been severed away and my body had become an entirely separate entity. I ducked and weaved and slashed and stabbed, all without even thinking about it. It was not mere instinct: it was the very will to survive. I had no choice but to win this duel. The chieftain's eyes no longer seemed threatening. No, they were mere trifles not to be worried about, for I had become a demon myself. I grabbed another dagger with my broken arm, ignoring the mind-numbing pain that this caused. I still fought mainly with my left hand, but now I had a dagger in my right for defense. Oh, the pain was there, but somehow I didn't quite feel it, as though this too was happening to some other being, some other person.

We met; our blades clashed; I slid one around his and nearly got him in the eye; but then he made to stab me and we each skipped out of the other's way. We circled, attacked, fought with savage fury, cut each other and then dodged back; then we circled again, following the same cycle of clashes. I'm not sure how many times we did this.

All I know is that suddenly we rushed each other at the same time. Our blades met and locked, and he bore down on me, putting extra pressure on my broken arm. And then my blade—it had been my best dagger, the lucky dagger, a present from my instructor—the dagger that had saved my beloved's life—as I watched in horror, it was sheared in two. Time seemed to slow to a standstill. I stared at the broken dagger in shock and then back up at the chieftain's face. It glowed with triumph, with the thrill of certain victory. My world, my very existence, seemed to be crumbling. I think I screamed in agony and despair, then. I'm not sure whether it was real or just in my head.

As I stared mutely at the shattered blade, for some reason Théodred's smiling face swam into my mind. I looked back up at the chieftain, still grinning almost manically in exultation. Then I kicked him in the chest with all my strength.

My heel landed right at the tip of his sternum, where the rib cage ended just above the stomach.*** He let out a little gasp and staggered back.

There was no way I was disarming until he submitted well and truly; fighters too often faked injuries to lull the opponent into a false sense of security. Instead I continued to press my advantage as the chieftain held his chest, doubled over as if in pain. I ignored my own, brandishing the broken dagger.

The chieftain made an odd rasping sound in his throat and then sat down heavily, still clutching at his chest. I swallowed. The fury pounding in my head was diminishing rapidly. Suddenly I felt myself returning to my old state as my mind and body seemingly joined once more. The pain that I had been staving off for so long threatened to return in full force.

I bit my lip hard, so hard I drew blood, as a dizzy spell rushed over me. I was tired, and hungry, and bleeding, and heck, my arm was broken! I gritted my teeth impatiently, willing back the pain, and returned my focus to the man before me. He looked to be in severe agony; his face was contorted with suffering. I cautiously took a step forward. He gasped something out in Dunlendish. I moved a little closer still. He glanced up at me and said something, but it was too low for me to hear.

Horse Lords! The pain rapidly spreading through my whole body threatened to overwhelm me. I pushed it aside. I could not waver now. I tried to sound self-assured: "Well? Say it again, louder. So that everyone can hear." I took another small step, the dagger still held out at the ready.

Silence. Then slowly, stiffly, the chieftain bent forward, laid both daggers at my feet, and managed to say the Westron words in a clear, strong voice: "I Arnalit do surrender to this Lady of the Rohirrim."

Then he collapsed.

I couldn't help myself. I dropped my daggers and knelt (well, really I fell) to his side. It was surely a trick—it had to be. But he didn't move. His face was pale and his breath shallow, but he managed out in a whisper, "You have the right to kill me, Lady."

I shuddered and shook my head. Did he truly think me that heartless, to kill a man completely at my mercy?

I swiftly analyzed his wounds. Béma, he had to be in more pain than I was. Why wasn't anyone moving?

I turned to the crowd, still watching in silence, spellbound by the fight. "He's hurt!—A healer! We need a healer!" A wave of dizziness and pain washed over my battered senses. I seemed to be in a fog of pain. A black veil seemed to fall over my eyes, and then I knew no more.

* * *

*These two lines are (illegally) paraphrased from Terry Pratchett's _Going Postal_.

**By all accounts the Rohirrim have no written language, so I am assuming that if there were to be written correspondence, it would be in the common tongue Westron.

***This little bit of bone is called the xiphoid process at the very bottom end of the sternum. A good blow to that spot will at best leave one's opponent severely winded and gasping for air; at worst, if the blow is hard enough, the bone breaks off and punctures the diaphragm, resulting in a most painful death.

Last, the Welsh name Arnalit means 'powerful eagle,' a good name for a chieftain. Or so I think, anyway.


	12. Fun With Friends

Disclaimer: You know the drill; I own nothing except plot and characterizations of dead/minor/previously nonexistent characters. Everything else belongs to that paragon of authors himself, Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien. *bows down in submission and awe*

* * *

I came to slowly. My head felt foggy, as though it had been wrapped up thickly in filmy gauze. I managed to crack one eyelid open. Wait—this wasn't my bed at home. Where was I? Suddenly I was wide awake. I tried to sit up and reconsidered. I ached all over, like someone had hit me repeatedly with a hammer or something. Then the events of the past few days flooded back into my head. Right—that chieftain fellow had done an awfully good job of nearly killing me. So that's why I felt so horrid.

I cautiously took a look around. I was in a tent of some sort. Someone had tended to my wounds, for my cuts had been treated and my arm was bandaged up snugly. To my right was another bed. In it lay the chieftain—Arnalit; that was his name. A man about the same age as my father was fussing over the chieftain's wounds.

I realized that I was incredibly thirsty. And hungry. But more thirsty than anything else. I shifted my position a bit to look around for some water.

The man at the chieftain's side heard the rustle of sheets as I tried to move, and he turned to me with a strange look in his eye—almost as if he were afraid of something. "Do… do the wounds pain you, my Lady?" he asked stiffly in rather mangled Rohirric.

"A bit sore, but otherwise alright," I replied. Why was he looking at me so oddly? "May I leave this tent?"

The man was silent for a few seconds, obviously trying to translate this last sentence into understandable Dunlendish. It became clear he was failing at the task. Suddenly another voice broke in, low but strong. The healer turned back round to face the chieftain and said something in a surprised voice. The chieftain replied something in a slightly humorous tone, then addressed me in stern Rohirric.

"You may not leave. You have won the duel, but you are still our prisoner. I do not want you wandering round the camp and bothering my men."

I scowled. "How would I be bothering them? I just want a breath of fresh air."

"We don't have time to set a watch to accompany you. The camp will be moving soon; the duel has put us behind schedule. After all, we must reach your fortress in time for the battle tonight."

Horse Lords, I had nearly forgotten about that. Théodred would be there. I was overcome with the sudden urge to see him, to talk to him, to… to get out of this Dunlending camp once and for all.

Meanwhile the chieftain was attempting to stand even though he was clearly far too weak to try such a thing. After four botched attempts, the healer managed to get the chieftain to stay in bed, propped in an upright position with blankets and pillows. I eyed the spectacle thoughtfully. Would the Dunlendings travel to battle without their leader? The healer said something in Dunlendish, gathered his things, and left the tent. I turned to the chieftain.

"You… you are Lord Arnalit, right?" I asked cautiously.

"Indeed."

"How are you feeling?" He had looked so cold out there, scarcely breathing as he laid on the newborn grasses. I had been so afraid then. Not because I would have missed him very much if he had died, but because I was sometimes afraid of what I was becoming.

"Well, apart from the multiple stab wounds, my barely-mending rib cage, and my inability to stand…" He shot me a rather angry glare.

"Sorry about all that." I meant it. I hadn't meant for him to crumple over and look…well, _dead._

"Why? It was a duel to the death. And you could not afford to lose."

I cringed. "I don't like to kill people."

"But you Rohirric don't consider us people."

I opened my mouth to argue against this, then stopped. I had suddenly remembered playing kill-the-evil-Dunlending when I was younger and the stories the old warriors would tell about their competitions for who-could-burn-the-most-Dunlending-houses. I had never really thought about it before.

The chieftain was watching me carefully. "You see? Even you cannot deny it. It is why we must get to Helm's Deep tonight in time for the battle." He added quietly, half to himself, "And then my people shall be revenged at last."

"Wait—Did you just say revenge? What did we ever do to you that you feel the need for … for vengeance?"

He laughed humorlessly. "What have the Rohirric ever done to my people? You drove us from our homes, killing innocent women and children, and then you continually raided our new settlements when we tried to live in peace. We even offered to come to a peace settlement, but instead your king slew ours. You Rohirric are so … so chauvinistic! I abhor you, your people, your stupid attitude that you're so much better than us just because you have 'kingly Gondor' on your side. And you have the gall to ask why we want revenge?"

I sat up straight, ignoring the pain this caused in my sore muscles, and raked through my history-of-the-Mark lessons. "What do you mean, peace settlement? First of all, those lands were never yours in the first place! They belonged to Gondor and then the Riddermark. And you never offered us a peace settlement. Your leader wanted Helm King's daughter, not a peace agreement, and when Helm said no, you were the ones to wage war on _us._ Many would say that your people had it coming."

"Many _Rohirrim_," he countered, eyes flashing. "And what do you think, little girl? Are you misguided and pretentious like all the rest of your people?"

"We're not pretentious," I argued. "And _you're_ the one who's misguided. Personally, I think you're an idiot if you think fighting for Saruman is going to get you anywhere. What did he promise you? Land? Prisoners to torture?"

The chieftain glared at me. "And what gives you the right to judge my ally?"

I thought of the spy's missive in the foul tongue of the East and shuddered. "Oh, I don't know; because he's EVIL?"

"What do you know of such things?" he scoffed.

How about Wormtongue and that spy? What about the missives to the advancing orcs? Or even the battle at the Fords of Isen, where I watched my beloved almost die again and again? My anger threatened to boil over. I got out of the bed stiffly, clenching my hands into fists to contain my feelings from spilling out.

"Do trustworthy people use the language of darkness to converse? Do they set friend against friend and promise them women as slaves in payment? Do they speak of subduing all humans as playthings for the orcs to do with as they please?" I couldn't help myself. It was though a dam had burst and everything foul I had come across in the past winter months was rushing out. "We passed by a village that had been destroyed and took the survivors back with us. Do trustworthy people send orcs to ravage villages… and rape girls of only eight years? To kill and mutilate new-born babes?"

The chieftain was staring at me with an unreadable expression. I swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears that were gathering. Instead I tried to set him on fire with my eyes. "Nothing… _nothing _justifies those kinds of deeds. And if you say it's okay just because you want revenge for something that happened HUNDREDS of years ago, then YOU are in the wrong, not I!"

I went to the other end of the tent, as far away from the chieftain as I could get, and looked out the flap at the bright blue sky. It was only a few hours after midday, and the sun blazed bright and merry, completely at odds with how I felt. I suddenly wondered what Théodred was doing.

"Lady—I do not know your name. How should I address you?"

I turned round to face the chieftain. "My name is Saffi. What do you want?"

He frowned at me. "Did you speak truly then?"

"When? When I spoke of the orcs and Saruman? – That's all true." I scowled. "I can take you to one of the burned villages if you don't believe me."

"I didn't say that I doubted you."

"But you implied it."

He rolled his eyes heavenward and muttered something to himself in Dunlendish.

I was about to turn away again when something at the foot of my bed caught my eye. It was my pack. _Someone had retrieved my pack for me._ With a surge of guilt, I remembered poor Mai.

"Where's my horse?"

The chieftain blinked. "Your horse?"

"Yes, my horse. You know, the big animal I was riding…"

He glared at me. "I don't know."

"May I go find out?"

He sighed. "If you can find someone else who speaks Rohirric."

I shouldered my pack and left the tent without a backwards glance.

* * *

I wandered through the camp looking for Mai. Ugh! There seemed to be a horse tied up at nearly every tent. I scanned the vast area. So many men… I would never find my horse in time. Not to mention all these warriors were set on assaulting my king and country tonight. I feared the Hornburg, for all our valiant warriors, would be overrun by the hordes of men and orcs set to attack. If only there was a way to stop even a portion of the host from taking part in battle. These Dunlendings alone had the power to determine the outcome, their forces were so great.

The smell from the fires nearby spoke of food roasting. My mouth watered. I paused and rooted around in my pack; hopefully there would be at least a small morsel for me to eat. I found three apples but nothing more. Horse poo. I took one out and started munching on it. Horse Lords, I was starving.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I spun round quickly, ready to defend myself, only to find the old man from the morning.

"Lady—"

"Saffi, sir. And are you Gwyddon?"

"Yes. Arnalit allowed you to leave the tent?" he asked quizzically.

I nodded. After all, nobody had stopped me, which sort of counted as the same thing, right? "I'm looking for my horse."

"Ah. Follow me." He wound through a veritable maze of tents, cooking fires, and small practice areas filled with men prepping for battle. They all turned and watched me silently as I passed. I tried to ignore the stares.

Finally Gwyddon stopped in front of a tent larger than the others. Outside it were picketed several horses, including Mai. I suppressed the urge to squeal at the sight like a small girl. It felt like years since I had last seen her. Mai whickered softly and butted me affectionately with her head.

"I'm sorry, girl," I murmured. "Have they been taking care of you?" I had been sorely tempted to eat the other apples myself as well, but Mai was hungry, and after all, it was unfair that she suffer because I had gotten us captured. I handed both remaining apples to her, and she devoured them quickly. "Sorry, Mai, I don't have any more," I apologized. I set to grooming her to sooth her nerves. She was nervous being around so many strangers. Once again I felt a surge of guilt for getting her into this mess.

A Dunlending coming around the corner of the tent caught sight of me and stopped dead still before turning round and heading off in the opposite direction. He, too, had that strange look on his face the others had worn. I looked around for Gwyddon, who was about to leave. "Sir, I thank you for leading me to Mai," I called. He halted and faced me. "May I ask you something?" He nodded. "When we came here just now… why was everyone looking at me so oddly?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't know? Arnalit is the greatest fighter of our people. And this morning you _won_. Fighting_ him_. It has never been done, never. Not with _him_."

I blushed. "A fluke, I assure you."

He gave me an odd look. I felt again as though I were being assessed. "You are modest for a Rohir," he said finally.

I blushed even harder, at a loss for words. I was starting to understand that this was a huge compliment coming from a Dunlending. Why did our two peoples hate each other so, anyway? Wasn't there a way to resolve things without blood being shed?

I was interrupted in my musings by a man hurrying towards us. When he reached Gwyddon, he gabbled out something in a rushed voice. Gwyddon glanced back at me thoughtfully. I bit my lip. Why did I have such a bad feeling about this? As soon as the man hastened away, I approached Gwyddon.

"What's wrong?"

He sighed grimly. "There's a troop of Rohirrim headed this way. Arnalit believes we should make ready to fight; I think we should send a messenger to find out what they want. Unfortunately, I don't know if he'll listen to me."

"Why not? He took your advice about the duel."

He chuckled. "And he lost, first time ever."

Right.

"Are you coming, Lady Saffi?" Gwyddon smiled crookedly at me—my first semi-friendly face of the day. "I don't doubt you'll talk some sense into him."

"Oh, all right. – I'll be back, Mai; don't worry."

* * *

Back in the tent, Arnalit took one look at Gwyddon and told him to go away in a petulant voice because he was obviously a horrible advisor (at least that was what Gwyddon translated for me). I hid a smile under my hand and watched the conversation (or was it an argument?) with interest. Gwyddon was saying something that was clearly logical, and Arnalit was scowling and pouting, interesting to see on a grown man.

Théodred always listened to what his advisors had to say even if he didn't agree, and he never pouted. Well, in public, anyway. He had made moping faces once or twice during our lengthy conversations in the garden, but never where others could see, and he had always acknowledged his foolishness and then moved on. I could admit to myself now that, yes, I had missed him constantly, a dull ache of loss and emptiness always present in the back of my mind. Unfortunately, acknowledging this just made me miss him even more.

I was jolted out of my reverie by a loud throat-clearing from Gwyddon. I turned to find both men staring at me.

"Arnalit wants to know what your opinion is," Gwyddon repeated patiently. My cheeks reddened at having been caught daydreaming so blatantly.

"I think you should send an emissary bearing a truce flag with a group of bodyguards to see what they want—the bodyguards so that if they attack first, you are not caught unprepared."

Arnalit sighed dramatically at being outvoted and started ordering about those waiting just outside the tent. From the way the group of bodyguards was already prepared, it seemed that everyone but Arnalit had already agreed on this course of action. Or perhaps he had known he would be outvoted and secretly agreed with Gwyddon anyway. I still wasn't quite sure how much the chieftain argued with his advisor just for the sake of arguing.

When all were on their way, Gwyddon as envoy, Arnalit turned on me.

"So what were you thinking about? Mourning the days when your little boyfriends would promise to slay you a Dunlending?"

I rolled my eyes and turned away. To stave off my hunger, I sat down on the bed and once again perused Théodred's letter, marveling that he had touched this paper, that these words had been written with his hand, that… in short, mooning over him like a complete fool. What can I say? I never really thought straight where he was concerned.

"Are you acquainted with Théoden King?" the chieftain demanded abruptly.

I looked up slowly. "No. I do know his son, though. Théo—I mean, Prince Théodred. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." He looked away uncomfortably for a few moments. Then he said, "Would they… oh, I don't know… be open to… Oh, never mind."

I regarded him thoughtfully. "I'm sure Théoden King would welcome a peace treaty with you," I remarked blandly. "Th—Prince Théodred has stated he has no wish to continue fighting your people. I'm sure he, for one, would work tirelessly for a peace treaty."

"You really think so?" Arnalit asked, and a faint note of hope crept into voice. Then he recovered himself and resumed his normal mocking tone. "That's quite lovely. What would they define as a peace agreement—not slaughtering all our women and children?"

I sighed and went to the tent opening. By now I was starting to suspect that Arnalit's gruff act was just that—an act and nothing more. It made his constant mockery a tad more bearable. So instead of glaring at him for such an idiotic statement, I decided to pretend he hadn't said anything at all.

* * *

Alricsloft, that morning...

_Sodred looked on in horror as his father let loose a sound somewhere between a scream and a growl. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, you foolish, unprincipled girl!" Soren ranted. "How—why? Why did you sleep with him? Why did you sleep with the prince?"_

"_What?" Saffi yelped. "You think I—WHAT?"_

"_Come with me, young lady!" Soren boomed. "You're not leaving that room of yours for a LONG time!" He grabbed his daughter's arm and hissed, "Your mother would be so ashamed." Her face froze. Then before Sodred could say a word his father dragged Saffi away to her room. Sodred tried to stop his father, how he knew not, but was restrained by Ama._

"_Let go of me," he said in a low, deadly tone of chipped ice._

_The housekeeper eyed him, startled by this abrupt change. Ama had known Sodred all his life, and she had always held him to be a cheery, happy-go-lucky kind of boy. Not the dangerous young man now standing before her._

"_Let go of me," he repeated in that same lethal voice._

"_What are you going to do?" she demanded of him softly. "He's your father—how are you going to stop him? Violence?"_

_He had been trying (unsuccessfully) to wrest his arm from her grip, but at this he stopped all movement and stood still as stone._

"_Well?"_

_He turned and stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then, with a small shake of his head, Sodred's eyes cleared and focused. His mouth set in a determined line the likes of which Ama had never seen on his face before. She realized approvingly that it seemed the boy had decided to finally grow up._

"_I'll be good, Ama," he promised, kissed the old woman on the cheek, and ran up the stairs._

_Once there, Sodred pushed aside the heavy table and chair that blocked his sister's bedroom door and yanked it open to free her. But there was no one to liberate; the room was empty of life._

_A chill breeze brushed past him. It was coming from an open window. He groaned quietly. Saffi never thought clearly when she was angry or upset, and now she was out on the plains somewhere probably walking straight into trouble. So what to do now?_

_What to do? He had to rescue her, that's what. Sodred flew down the stairs and out the front door. He had a feeling that his sister was in trouble and for once in over her head._

_Ten minutes later several dozens of fighters had all assembled in front of the house, Sodred at the head. Just as he reached to mount his horse, Soren strode out angrily._

"_What do think you're doing?"_

"_Saffi's in trouble," Sodred replied curtly, turning back to his horse._

"_She does not deserve your aid!"_

_Sodred whirled round, eyes blazing. "_YOUR_ daughter is quite possibly in danger of losing her life! I value that life, as should you! Now good day." He swung into the saddle, and the troop rode off in a swirl of dust without a backward glance._


	13. Holes and Loops

Disclaimer: J.R.R.T. the Great owns everything except a village he never named, a plotline he never came up with, and characters he never named/invented.

* * *

_The Hornburg stood tall and proud in the ravine of Helm's Deep. Théoden King halted and looked up at it. "Here Helm King defended the Mark, and here I, too, shelter to defend the Eorlingas. Let us hope tonight will end but half so well."_

_Aragorn turned to him. "Your men believe in you, Théoden."_

_Théoden answered nothing, instead urging his mount up the ramp into the fortress. Aragorn held his own horse back so that he could ride alongside Théodred and Éomer. Abruptly Éomer asked, "Aragorn, do _you_ believe that we may witness the future in a dream?"_

_Aragorn shrugged. "It depends. The future holds infinite possibilities, and what you or I foresee may be but one of many outcomes."_

_Farther back in the procession, Legolas and Gimli were discussing the pros and cons of a mountain fortress—this one, to be exact. Gimli pointed out that the Hornburg was flooded with memories of fear and death. "If it weren't for the beautiful caverns, I would not come to this valley again," grumbled Gimli. "Have you been below? These Men know not of what splendors lie just beneath their feet. But, on the other hand, this fortress has witnessed such pain and suffering. It reminds me too much of Khazad-dûm. We would need some of my kinsmen to bring forth again the beauty of this place; only then would death's stench be cleared away."_

_Legolas shook his head. "Here I must disagree with you. Although I feel the death as strongly as you, I also feel that where you only see those who failed, I see those who succeeded. This place is a testament to Man's will to survive. The spirits of those who died here are at rest because their sacrifice was not in vain. All the same, though, I hesitate to enter walls of stone…"_

* * *

So this was how hero-worship starts, I thought dazedly. Watching my brother cheerily interact with practically the entire host of Dunlendings, I, for one, was ready to start composing a song in his praise. He was devastatingly kind, overwhelmingly patient, and relentlessly upbeat. (It was actually rather intimidating; all those he spoke with seemed a bit confounded afterwards, as if they'd nearly been blown over by his sheer enthusiasm.) In fact, if he wasn't my brother, I would say he was the nicest person I'd ever seen.

The troop had ridden into the camp about an hour ago, flanked by the Dunlending bodyguards. Everyone had looked apprehensive except for Sodred. He had just worn a look of grim determination. I'd never seen that expression on his face before. Sodred seemed—well, not older, but more mature somehow, as though my brother had … for lack of a better phrase, as though he had finished growing up. Upon seeing me relatively unharmed, though, the new lines on his face had smoothed some. He had caught me up in a great, suffocating bear-hug while Arnalit looked on bemused. The chieftain had tried to talk my brother into leaving with me without another look back but had quickly learned (to my utter enjoyment) that my brother had a stubborn streak several leagues long. Sodred and I both knew that if the Dunlendings didn't fight tonight, the chances of the Riddermark surviving the assault would increase tenfold. We had to stop them from fighting, and by Béma, Sodred and I were going to do so. At least, that's what the look on his face had said.

So Sodred had set out on a campaign to speak to each and every Dunlending and learn why he would be fighting tonight. With Gwyddon as translator, my brother rounded the entire camp. I figured my presence, apparently rather threatening (a new experience for me), would scare the Dunlendings from speaking their true feelings—or so Gwyddon told me, amusement plainly written across his countenance—so I was once again cooped up in the tent with Arnalit, who was feeling well enough to stand for about thirty-second stretches. Each time he stood, it lasted a little bit longer.

I turned to the chieftain. "So, what did you think of my brother?"

Arnalit stared at me. "Well, I see where you get your annoying mouth from," he replied; "it's the only way to counter that kind of enthusiasm. Tell me, does he understand everything he says?"

"Worse," I answered promptly. "He remembers everything _you_ say as well."

Arnalit's eyes widened very briefly. "How do you survive living with him?" he asked with great feeling.

I laughed outright. "I learned how to beat him up to make him stop talking."

* * *

When Sodred finally returned from his incredibly long walk round the camp (which was understandable given several thousand Dunlendings out there), he ducked back into the tent and gestured at me. I followed him out around the side, where we couldn't be heard by Arnalit or Gwyddon.

"Well?" I demanded. A day spent with the Dunlending chieftain had rid me of any patience I might have otherwise possessed. "What have you learned, o voice of goodwill?"

My brother sighed, the cheery façade dropping. "They don't want to be fighting. I mean, they don't like the Eorlingas as a rule, but neither do they wish to fight alongside orcs and the like."

"That's what the chieftain implied as well," I remembered. "You know, when he wasn't complaining about how evil we of the Mark are."

Sodred's grin returned momentarily, brief as a spring shower. "So why are they here?"

"Revenge," I said simply. "They have several centuries' worth of grievances against us, you know, and tonight is their chance to make the Eorlingas pay. Arnalit wants vengeance—well, he said he wants justice, but I think this goes a bit beyond that."

"It does indeed," someone interceded. It was Gwyddon, who had somehow snuck up on us unawares. He grimaced at the memory and sighed. "His father, chieftain before him, was killed in battle with Rohirrim, as was his younger brother. For Arnalit, this is a very personal issue."

I shivered involuntarily. "Who…?"

Gwyddon shook his head. "No, Lady Saffi, those men are dead as well, felled by those they killed."

"Do you think peace could ever be reached between our peoples?" Sodred asked in a delicate tone.

Gwyddon shrugged, giving us both a careful glance. "That will depend on you two."

My brother and I looked at each other. No pressure.

* * *

_What worries you, my son?" Théodred was standing on the battlement staring blindly out at the view. It was stark but beautiful. The mountains on either side, called affectionately Helm's Dike, cast their long shadows into the valley ahead as the sun moved ever lower. Soon it would set, and the battle would begin._

_Théoden came to stand next to him. "It is lovely, is it not? Beautiful and deadly."_

_Silence. Then Théodred, still staring straight ahead, said quietly, "I dreamt my death. Two days ago—the night before we sent the messengers out to Westfold—I dreamt that I was standing on the battlements right there;" he pointed to a level just below. "Orcs were climbing the walls. But they weren't alone; there were Men fighting as well. Dunlendings. One, he looked to be the Dunlendings' chieftain, attacked me—he was wielding daggers. I was already fighting three orcs. Before I knew what was happening, his knife was about to slide into my chest."_

_"And then?"_

_"I woke up." Théodred shrugged helplessly. "And now I don't know whether it was just a dream or truly of something to come. Yet I cannot cast it aside. It felt so real…" He trailed off. "I have said or sent my last goodbyes to those I love; it might not yet be my time, but..."_

* * *

Once we entered the tent, Sodred started right in on the chieftain. "So, Lord Arnalit," my brother began breezily, "I've asked everyone else, so I figured I should ask you as well. Why are you here?"

Arnalit opened his mouth to begin his long spiel about all the hardships his people had went through at Rohirric hands. I shot him a quick death-glare (the kind that says _I didn't kill you before but that doesn't mean I can't change my mind_), so he gave a fake cough and settled for the short version. "Tonight is my opportunity for revenge and to end the strive. With the Rohirrim subdued, you will no longer send raids on our lands or attack our caravans traveling through border areas. I want peace, but the only way to get this is for your people to understand that they can't go around attacking us all the time."

Sodred raised his eyebrows skeptically. "A peace treaty wouldn't do the same job?"

This time it was Arnalit's turn to send out a death-glare. The look on his face would probably have curdled milk, but my brother just smiled and looked even friendlier than ever. (It was that very trait of his that had always gotten him in trouble in the past; others just didn't understand that instead of backing away from danger like a normal person, Sodred treats danger like a cute fluffy bunny and tries to make friends with it.) The chieftain replied stiffly, "Your people tend to take one look at me and attack. Your leaders don't see the use of treaties when they can just kill my people instead."

"But things can change. People can change." I sat down on the bed and thought of Théodred, changing from self-centered prince to someone I actually… I wrenched my thoughts back to the present and suddenly had a very wicked idea indeed. "What if we wrote a treaty together?"

"What do you mean?" Arnalit asked suspiciously. Sodred, too, shot me a quick questioning glance.

"What if we crafted a peace treaty right now?" I asked. "You don't fight tonight; my people don't attack next time we meet – that sort of thing. We four"—I gestured round the tent—"write a treaty. Right now. You're the chief of your people, right, Lord Arnalit? And Sodred... Sodred here is a representative of the House of Eorl. So we could draft a working treaty—just for the present, if you will—that would also lay the groundwork for future meetings and agreements. That way you could come visit Meduseld and work out a more detailed peace arrangement at a later date without having to worry about being attacked by Rohirrim every step of the journey."

I looked around at the wondering faces. Sodred had on his most placid look, which meant he probably wanted to throttle me. Arnalit appeared dubious, but there was also a small spark of hope burning in his eyes. Gwyddon looked speculative. His eyes met mine, assessing and tentative all at once; then he gave the tiniest of nods in approval. I stood. "Well? Do you think we could at least try?"

Sodred scowled. "If you two will excuse us, I need to have a word in private with my sister." Arnalit nodded acquiescence, and Sodred dragged me forcibly out of the tent.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed as soon as we were out of earshot. "I'm not a representative of the king!"

"But you are. No, listen to me," I pleaded. "Théodred asked you to patrol the Western border, did he not?" Sodred nodded suspiciously. "What he forgot to mention was that according to the lore only an appointed representative of the Second Marshal can do such a thing. Since he asked and you accepted, you are now a representative of Théodred, Second Marshal of the Riddermark. But since he is the Crown Prince, by association you are also a representative of the House of Eorl."

My brother stared at me. "Truly?"

I nodded. Who knew all those boring lessons on the history of the Mark would actually be useful?

"So I can write and sign this treaty _legally_?"

"I know this is a new experience for you, but yes, it is technically legal," I assured him.

Sodred just shook his head at me. "You have a devious mind, little sis," he finally commented.

"Is that a yes?"

He sighed dramatically and nodded. "All right, Saffi, let's write a pretty peace agreement."

Arnalit scowled when he saw us come back in. Anders once said that when Sodred and I were up to some mischief, our faces reflected it—apparently we never looked innocent and harmless unless we were about to do something really bad. I wondered now if we had this same look and if the chieftain had somehow picked up on it.

"Well, Gwyddon has told me this is a good idea, so I don't think I really have a choice anymore," Arnalit commented drily. "But, for what it's worth, I think this might work, Lady Saffi. It just might work."

I went over to my pack. There were still a few pieces of parchment, along with a bottle of ink and a quill. I turned to my brother. "You're going to have to write."

He scowled. "Why me?" I brandished my bandaged right arm at him. "Oh, yeah; your arm's broken. Fine, I'll do it." He sat down on the bed and dragged the table over in front of him. I drew a breath in anticipation.

"Everyone ready? Yes? Then let's begin."

* * *

_We are here gathered today by the grace of the Valar. For many centuries the Dunlendings and Eorlingas have fought, yet this has helped neither people grow or flourish. Thus we the undersigned do take it upon ourselves to make this treaty in the hopes that peace shall come to this corner of Arda. Acknowledging the long history of past disputes between our peoples, the undersigned do affirm their hope and belief that peace is indeed possible. We must not be shackled by memories of the past but instead look forward to the future, a future in which Eorlingas and Dunlendings do not ride to war against one another but instead work together as equal peoples._

_We the undersigned here affirm that Dunlendings and Eorlingas can and shall coexist in peace from this day forth. We the undersigned swear to meet again in peace to further the ties between our peoples, and we also swear to always discuss and settle differences of opinions through meetings and cooperation on the part of __both__ parties. We the undersigned swear that this treaty shall not be the last, but the first of many talks between the Dunlending people and the House of Eorl. And we the undersigned swear to do the utmost in our power to prevent any more bloodshed between our two nations._

_May the Valar be witness to this treaty._

_Affirmed by:_

_Sodred Sorensson, representative of the House of Eorl_

_Arnalit, Prince of the Dunlending Peoples, Chieftain of the Draig-Lûth_

* * *

I peered over my brother's shoulder at the treaty. It was a bit short, but it said everything it needed to. It was, in fact, very nearly perfect. I allowed myself a quick grin. This just might work indeed.

Sodred had written out two copies—one for Arnalit, one to take to our own King. Gwyddon had checked that both (written in Westron) were exactly the same treaty. Arnalit fixed his name to the second copy and straightened. Then he managed to hobble over to me. It seemed like he would be recovering quickly.

"You'll be glad to know that, now we're not at war anymore, I no longer feel the need to kill you," he observed.

"Good news indeed," I replied, struggling to keep a straight face. Then (Béma be praised!) Arnalit actually SMILED. It was small but genuine. He bowed over my broken hand and told me that I was a remarkable Lady indeed.

Then he turned to my brother. The two men shook hands like equals, I noticed. "Don't forget this lovely piece of paper, now," Sodred reminded gently.

Arnalit chuckled. "Don't think for a moment I'll let _you_ forget it," he said meaningfully. "Now, both of you, don't you have a fortress to be at?"

As we walked through the camp to where the rest of Sodred's troop still waited (traveling slowly to accommodate Arnalit's poor gait), the chieftain looked at the sun hanging low in the sky and grimaced. "Tonight a vast force will be at Helm's Deep, and your king is going to need all the help he can get. Ride like the wind, young Rohirrim."

I smiled. "It'll be less without you there."

"That is true. I wish the both of you the best of luck."

Then Sodred and I mounted up. Arnalit turned to his people and bellowed in a magnificent voice, "We shall not fight tonight!" (At least, that's what Gwyddon, wearing a large smile, translated to me over the sound of the giant responding cheer of relief.) Clearly the chieftain was not one to be put off by injuries; as we rode off, I could hear Arnalit declaiming the contents of the treaty in a loud voice to the gathered force of Dunlendings. "This treaty has been written and signed in Westron, and thus I shall read it to you all. 'We are here gathered today by the grace of the Valar…'"


	14. Fire and Ice

Disclaimer: You know the drill- Tolkien the Great owns everything except some weirdos I came up with and a plotline he clearly rejected... Enjoy!

* * *

I risked a glance at the sun and cringed. It hung low in the sky—too low. I urged Mai as close to my brother's horse as I dared; I would have gone closer at any other time, but we were traveling at a near-gallop. Moreover, I was riding bareback without the use of my right arm, leaving me without the degree of control to which I was accustomed. Over the sound of hoofs pounding the plain, I called my brother's name. He glanced over at me, the quick look of a concentrated rider; it was a fast pace we went at indeed.

"Do the villagers still await us?"

Sodred did something that could have been a head-shake in the negative or a glance around at the surroundings. Horse Lords, but it was hard to hold a conversation while galloping on horseback. He must have noticed my confusion, for he tried again. "No! I think…"

I glared at him the best I could. The effect was a bit ruined by the way my head was bouncing up and down. "What's 'you _think_' supposed to mean?"

Sodred shrugged. "The warriors we left behind as vanguard were supposed to escort the villagers to the Hornburg if we didn't return within two hours."

Ah. So that meant, if I knew my fellow villagers at all, after the first two hours had passed by, they would have spent another hour arguing about whether or not they should go and then an additional thirty minutes discussing whether they could take the furniture with them. The pace would be slow… I did some quick mental calculations. No, even accounting for all possible delays, the village should make it to the Hornburg well by sundown. After all, Sodred had left only a few minutes after I had, so the villagers should have had plenty of time to reach Helm's Deep. Should. I wondered whether any had decided to stay behind and which (if any) valuables were still left in people's homes.

But nothing could prepare me for the sight that awaited us at Alricsloft.

No one had left at all.

Sodred growled and swung off his horse in one fluid motion. Approaching a clump of villagers, he demanded sternly, "And why, may I ask, has NO ONE left for the Hornburg?" At this all talk and noise ceased, leaving an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch out like the plains themselves. All that could be heard was the sound of the wind sweeping through the village. Everyone had frozen, and they now were busy not looking at each other or my brother.

Then someone said, "Because I told them not to." I turned to look at my house with a slow feeling of dread. There stood Father, arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

I felt the sudden urge to wipe it off, perhaps for good. Who cared if he was my father? After all, no one had ever called me a rule-abider before, and this was no time to change things. I dismounted, though it was more a jump than anything else, but someone immediately grabbed my left arm and pulled me back. It was Elise.

"No, Saffi!" she hissed. "This isn't your battle!"

"Than what is?" I whispered heatedly. "Did you hear him this morning?" I noticed that Mai, blessed horse, had shifted her stance so as to block us from inquiring eyes.

"Of course we heard," interrupted Anwyn. "Anyone and everyone inside the house probably heard. But that's not the point. This," she gestured towards my brother and father, "is not about Eriksson's parenting skills. It's about the very future of this village."

"After your brother left, the remaining Elders got all in a dither about whether they should go or not, and the old women decided that they, for one, would be leaving. And everyone was all packed up, and it was about time to go—and then your father came out." Elise sighed. "He said that if anyone went they would never get work from him again." She pursed her lips together in silent, seething fury.

"And of course after that a bunch of people changed their minds," Anwyn added quietly. "And those of us who still wanted to leave didn't have enough fighters to go with us." She looked angry but also a bit appalled at the events. Elise, on the other hand, just looked ready to hit something.

Words were now floating up from in front of the house. Sodred and my father had been speaking in low, hissing voices at first, but gradually the volume had increased to reach all assembled. And more people, it seemed, were coming to see the show.

I craned round Mai to see what was happening. My brother now was directly in front of Father. If looks could kill, neither would have still been standing.

"There is an army of orcs out there ready to slaughter us," Sodred was saying icily, his voice almost shaking with suppressed anger. "This village is in danger! These children," sweeping an arm toward where Danmarr and the other stable boys stood wide-eyed, "may very well lose their _lives_. You know as well as I what an orc will do to a human—what awaits makes even the hardiest _scream_ for death. I cannot countenance endangering lives just because one is too _lazy_ to take a few-hours' trek to _safety_."

"You overstep your station, _Sorensson_," Father reminded sharply. "As the Chief Elder of Alricsloft, it is my duty, not yours, to decide what course is taken. Are you saying you are wiser than the Council itself, _boy_?"

Sodred's hands clenched and unclenched slowly. "It does not take eminent wisdom to see Death when it comes knocking." Never before had his resemblance to our father been clearer—they stood the same, wore identical expressions of anger, each had the same stern, determined mouth—How had I never seen it before?

But where Father's countenance was hard and unbending, my brother's was resolute but feeling. Where my father had ice, Sodred had fire.

"You council us to run away at the slightest hint of danger," Father replied in a mocking tone, his lip curling in disgust. "What kind of Eorling are you? We are a hardy people, not the quivering fools you would have us be!"

"Better a living fool than dead!" my brother spat out. Then he turned to the watching crowd. I looked around and realized that the entire village was listening eagerly. It seemed he had realized the same thing, for Sodred paused and drew a breath before continuing. "Friends—Eorlingas—countrymen: I come not to upstage any valued member of the Elders;* they have guided us faithfully and well for many years. I am here because I do not wish to see Alricsloft destroyed. I am here because I value your safety. I am here because I have seen with my own eyes the coming armies and because I have seen the burning villages. That smoke you see in the distance is no innocent campsite, and we all know it.

"There is no shame in seeking refuge; the only ignominy is that of one who has sacrificed his friends' well-being for the sake of his pride. The true hero knows when to concede defeat. He knows when to fight and when to run. Yes, to run, for we cannot stand alone. We are first and foremost _Eorlingas_, not just the people from Alricsloft. Divided, the Riddermark does not stand a chance. But together, united as one people…

"So the choice lies before you now. I ask you not to choose between Sodred and Soren: We are but Men. I ask you to chose safety over comfort, to chose your children's welfare over today's lethargy."

"Would you listen to this young fool?" my father demanded harshly, pushing his way forward again. "For years I have held this village together with my own two hands. I am the reason your children are fed! And I say that yes, there is a threat of attack, but no more than the threat we have lived with all our lives. We can and will get through these troubles just as we have in the past. Running away will only cause needless worry and discord—see here how even the idea has brought conflict to Alricsloft.

This boy would have you run like cowards to weak to defend themselves. If there is any danger, it lies in exposing ourselves through travel. If a storm rages you stay in your house rather than run out into the rains." Father pointed at Sodred. "_He_ counsels you to run out into this supposed storm like an inexperienced child. Surely you are still the strong, hardy people I know and work with each day; you are not the weaklings he makes us out to be. We do not need refuge. We are Eorlingas! We are hardy and strong; we need no walls of stone to protect us! We run from no Man!"

"No, we run from no Man, but the host we face today_ is no man_," Sodred pointed out grimly. "Those are monsters sent straight from the cruel Lord of Isengard. Are you stronger than the White Wizard? More powerful than ten-thousand orcs, Wargs, and whatever foul magic is sent our way? Bravery is wondrous, but it does not mean we must be fools about it."

Father pointed at the sun, which now looked ready to set. I grimaced at the reminder and then returned my attention to my warring family members. "He says to run, but where to? The Hornburg is several hours' away; we would not get there by nightfall even at full gallop. It is an idiotic plan, through and through. There is no need to worry or take refuge. We shall stay here and thrive!"

Sodred's mouth thinned visibly. "We may not make it to the Hornburg, but that does not mean we should carry on as if nothing were happening! We need to find shelter now. We cannot afford to stay here and act as an open target." At this, Father moved even closer to him with a strange look on his face, usually so calm but now full of vehemence and rage. In fact, the look was almost—murderous. _Surely he wouldn't...?_ I wondered suddenly. Sodred had always been Father's golden child, the one he was ever so proud of. But now I didn't know what to think. And Sodred had sided with me this morning, had directly opposed my father's will…

Before any of my fears could be realized, Ælfred stepped forward between the two men swiftly and interceded. "People of Alricsloft! You have heard the debate, and our options have been presented. It is time to decide."

* * *

*Sorry. Couldn't help myself. This is rather obviously paraphrased from Marc Antony's famous speech in Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_, which begins "Friends, Romans, countrymen: lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him..." Of course, Antony's whole speech is praising Caesar, much like Sodred's speech implies that the Elders are in fact a bunch of doddering old fools. Yay irony!


	15. Hidden Strengths

Disclaimer: Tolkien the Great owns everything. I own a copy of his books...

**A/N**: The stuff in italics is the story Saffi is telling; the regular text in between tells of actual events that happened earlier in the day. (Yeah, it's been a seriously long day for Saffi- I think it's been five or six chapters now?) There were indeed problems with orcs moving south during the Dwarf and Orc Wars (which did occur during the reign of Brytta son of Fréalof, dubbed Léofa, or Beloved, by the Eorlingas). Everything else I made up, although on the American Great Plains (I'm not sure about elsewhere) settlers did sometimes build their houses out of sod. For pictures of a sod house, there's a link on my profile :)

* * *

The air was stale and the darkness so black it seemed flat. I pulled the blanket around me more tightly, not because I was cold, but because it was something solid to cling to. Not that I would have admitted this to anyone (although Théodred would probably have guessed at it). Next to me the little troop of stable boys huddled in the corner. The ground wasn't freezing—after all, it was spring, or would be soon—but neither was it very warm. And fear tended to make people shiver as well, no matter how much they might blame it on the temperature.

Until about two hours ago few had known this place even existed, and yet now our entire village was crammed in here. The horses had a corner all to themselves stacked hastily with hay and feed. A few of the younger horses had made some fuss about entering such a cold, dank place, but Mai had tossed her head defiantly and butted them in. It had been an amusing sight to watch my horse herd the yearlings around like a bitch does her puppies.

But as to why we were here—well, it seemed that the day had held even more surprises for me. I was still shocked at the latest development.

For the villagers had unanimously sided with my brother.

* * *

It started as a single voice—I still wasn't sure who—and then swelled into a unanimous chant: "Sodred! Sodred!" I couldn't believe it. I think my mouth dropped open of its own accord as I stared in amazement at the crowd. We had won! Sodred had actually WON! Shock and relief washed over me, and my knees were suddenly too weak and wobbly to hold me up; I clung to Mai for support. (It seemed the stress of the day's events was finally catching up to me, for I felt lightheaded and unnaturally giddy.) When I recovered, I managed to slip through the crowd to close by where Sodred and my father still stood. As I watched, something in Father's face changed, a sort of crumpling, as though the strong front he had worn for so long had finally been defeated. He turned an unseeing look at my brother and whispered, "Well done, son," before going inside the house stiffly. He moved like a man twice his age. Despite all that had happened, I felt a sudden stirring of pity for this unknown person, for I did not know him, this quiet, defeated old man, hobbling and stricken.

My brother, meanwhile, was being overwhelmed by adults (and his friends) asking him what his plan was for the village and how we were going to avoid being slaughtered by the coming hordes. Our gazes caught, and for an instant, I glimpsed just how vulnerable and scared he felt. I think he saw the same thing in my own face, for he offered me a weak smile and quickly came over.

"I can't believe it," Sodred breathed.

I hugged him tightly. "I'm so proud of you!"

He let out something between a laugh and a sob. "Don't get too proud of me yet, sis. We've only got a few hours before sundown, and who knows when the host will be passing through." I shivered at the thought. "Well?" he continued. "I'm going to need your help on this one. I need a plan, Saffi…" He caught my hands in his own for a moment. I remembered how Théodred had done the same thing, and instantly the ever-present grief at his absence swung into full force. I had to give myself a mental shake to return to reality as Sodred tried to bring me out of my momentary daze. "Saffi? Are you okay? Saffi?"

* * *

"Saffi?—Saffi?" Someone was calling my name again. I blinked. No, this was real and definitely in the present. I opened my eyes and was again assaulted with the reality of my position: dark, dank, and damp. Fun.

"Saffi?" the small voice asked again.

I turned blindly toward the sound. We had candles and torches available, but all agreed it was best to do without as much as possible in order to make things last longer. "Yes, Danmarr?"

"It's dark," he said petulantly.

"And cold," added Cenhelm (Ømundsson), another stable boy. He was twelve and loved pretending he was out adventuring with the Éored.

"There's not much I can do about the cold and the dark," I admitted softly with a smile.

"Could you tell us a story?" Danmarr asked after a few seconds of consideration. The other boys quickly sounded their eager agreement.

I considered this. Quiet was of the utmost importance, and the boys tended to get rowdy when excited. On the other hand, we would be spending the entire night here, and they probably needed some sort of distraction. I nudged Elise, who sat on my left.

"What is it?" she asked irritably. Elise didn't like the dark, but she was doing her best to be a good sport about it.

"They want a story."

"So I heard," she drawled. "So what's the problem? They'll be quiet while you talk. And we need a story, so tell one—not just for them, but for all of us." She shivered. "The boys aren't the only ones who need distracting."

I considered this. "Alright. But only if you promise to stay quiet."

"We will!" they chorused. And so I began.

_"Long ago in earlier days, when Brytta son of Fréalof had just been crowned King of the Riddermark, out on the western edge of the Mark the mountains had not yet been won completely. Although goblins and orcs did not usually roam here, the mountains still held networks of caves. It was during these times that the Dwarves and Orcs began warring in earnest. Many such fell beasts moved southward to escape the battles._

_It was also during these times that one winter was particularly brutal. Many orcs, new to the area, died of famine. Those remaining, made desperate by hunger, ventured far from the mountains in search of sustenance._

_One night a few orcs came across a small village out on the plain, only a half-day's trek from the nearest mountain. The orcs crept round the houses warily, searching for food. However, they were so hungry that they were not as careful as usual. A horse caught wind of their scent and immediately alerted the villagers to the beasts' presence. The villagers ran out armed and chased the orcs away._

_From that day on, the orcs and villagers constantly clashed in pitched battles. Every night orcs would attempt to raid the village stores for foodstuffs. Sometimes they were successful; other times the villagers managed to hold off the orcs all night (for in the morning, the dark-loving monsters would return to their mountain strongholds). Each raid increased in size; for every time the orcs were successful, they spread word to more and more of their comrades in the same dire situation. The raids quickly spread to include nearby villages as well. The orcs were strong and hardy and large in number. The Eorlingas were fighting a losing battle._

_In desperation, the villagers sent a messenger to Edoras, begging Brytta King for aid. But when Léofa arrived with a full Éored five days later, he found the remnants of burned villages but no villagers, dead or alive._

* * *

The village adults had all been crowded round anxiously trying and failing to come up with a plan to hide from the incoming army. At last, shooting an apologetic look at my brother, I slipped out from the circle and went inside to the kitchens. I still hadn't eaten anything, and I was actually starting to feel a bit faint. Elise found some bread and meat left over from the midday meal, and we sat together on the long bench as I munched absentmindedly, wracking my brains for a solution to our dilemma.

Elise at last broke the silence by slouching across the table and muttering into her crossed arms, "If only there was some sort of underground shelter close by here. Too bad the closest are the caves in the mountains." She huffed again.

"I know. If only…"

* * *

_The night after the messenger had departed for Meduseld, the orcs had led their biggest attack yet. The orcs raided two villages and razed them to the ground. The screams of the dying echoed across the plain, and even though the villagers did their best to rescue their neighbors, they could barely stanch the flow of orcs. When the sun rose, the remaining inhabitants of the ravaged villages made their way to the only village still standing. But even with increased numbers, the village had no hope of surviving the next assault._

_They needed a place to shelter until the King's warriors arrived. But where? The gently rolling plains held small dips and dells to be sure, but no place where orcs could not freely roam._

* * *

Elise suddenly sat straight up. "But last night I was reading a (rare) Sindarin text that actually mentioned the Riddermark. Supposedly during Léofa's reign some villages constructed shelters out of sod that would supposedly blend in with the prairie. It was just mentioned in passing—the main focus was on the Dwarf and Orc Wars—but could it be…?"

I stared at her. "If you're thinking what I'm thinking… – There weren't maps in that text, were there?"

She shook her head. "But still… Would Tobíen know?"

"He's not _that_ old," I reminded her. "The Orc wars happened over two centuries ago!"

* * *

_Then a young Eorling and his wife stepped forward timidly. "I live out eastward. When I moved out here, I could not afford to bring lumber from the woods south—it was too expensive and time-consuming. So I built it out of sod. What if we did something similar? We could make shelters out of sod—build them from a hillock so that they would blend in." He shrugged. "I don't know about a bigger structure, but I can walk on my own roof with no problem."_

* * *

"The question is: do they still exist, or have they caved in? After all, no one's seen them in ages… Well, not Ages, but you know what I mean." Elise stood and began pacing around the room. "Is there some way to find these shelters?"

I swallowed the last bit of bread and got up. "No idea. But let's go see these texts of yours."

We hurried out the back entrance toward Elise's dwelling. Her house was small—just two rooms for her and her father—but stacked full with texts and parchment. Elise's father was from Esgaroth, and he and Elise both loved books and histories, hoarding manuscripts brought from the faraway lands he had visited.

Inside, Tanrir was packing a knapsack full of food, clothing, and (of course) a few of the more precious texts. He didn't even notice our presence until Elise called out his name softly in Westron. "Father? Do you know where I left that account of the Mark?"

He blinked and looked up at us slowly. His eyes were dreamy yet penetrating. It was hard to get something by Tanrir without him catching on. "No. My dear, are you looking for this purely out of curiosity, or are you motivated by a more pressing interest?"

Elise sighed out "Both!" and hurried into the back room. I followed close on her heels.

The parchment was laying at the end of her bed. Elise caught it up and held it close for better scrutiny. I leaned in to look, though I knew not a word. The writing was small and spidery and the ink pale from age, yet Elise read it easily.

"Wait for it…wait for it…aha! Here it is!" She ran her finger down the page excitedly.

"Does it mention any specific village?"

"No… But it does say the village was but half a day's ride from Helm's Deep, which could mean that the shelters are in our vicinity. What we need is the nearest hillock."

"What?"

"If the shelters still exist, then they're going to look just like a part of the landscape—after all, it worked back then, and think how much grass and such has grown since those times—if, of course, this isn't just a myth."

"From what your father tells me, all myths are based in truth," I reminded her. "And after all, didn't we think Maiar and the Golden Wood were just tales?"

* * *

_The villagers worked all day on their shelter. One group busily excavated part of the hillside, while others worked on the structure that would hold up the roof of sod. There were no breaks and no stopping for meals. All knew that if they were to fail in this endeavor, the orcs would overrun them at last. This was their only chance at survival._

_Somehow they completed the structure just as the sun dipped down to the horizon. Women and children had already moved all foodstuffs that the orcs had not destroyed into the shelter, and now the villagers and their horses entered. Makeshift beds and cots were spread across the dirt floor, and all resigned themselves to an uncertain fate._

_Four days and nights they hid in the shelter. On the fifth day, despite rationing out tiny portions, they neared the bottom of their stock. Someone would have to leave the shelter and risk giving away its position to find more food and drink for the villagers, who otherwise would slowly starve. They had no idea what time it was outside the shelter or what would await them, but they had no choice._

_At last one man, the same farmer whose idea it was to build the shelter, volunteered to go forth. The others wished him luck, not knowing whether they would ever see him again._

* * *

It was a hopeless idea—there was no way we were going to find a mythical shelter and its hidden entrance before the sun set—but there was no other option. It was sheer foolishness, utter madness. But it was no more foolish than doing nothing.

I entered my own home and ran upstairs. Sodred was sitting in his room with his head in his hands. I went straight in. "Sodred?"

He groaned and refused to look at me.

"What's wrong?"

He groaned again. "What's wrong! Horse Lords, Saffi, I don't know what to do. I can craft a treaty with Dunlendings, but I fail to rescue my own friends and neighbors. If I had stayed here, all these people could be safe right now…"

"With an army of Dunlendings marching towards them," I reminded him. "By the way, do you know where the nearest hillock is?"

He stiffened. "What?"

"I'm looking for a rise or drop in the land. Not major, obviously, but significant. Natural, not like that track in the training yards Father had built in."

He looked up at me in confusion. "There's one but a mile north. Hildred used to tell crazy stories about that place—according to her grandfather, who had it from his grandfather before him or something, there's an underground cave there. Not that there would be a cave out here on the plains…" He stopped abruptly. "Why do you ask?"

I was already out the door.

* * *

_The farmer emerged from the tunnel that led into the shelter slowly. The sun shone merrily overhead. He had to halt before stepping out; after days in darkness, the light was incredibly blinding. When at last he could begin to make things out, the farmer cautiously stepped out onto the plain. Nothing. No orcs, no monsters—but no people, either._

_He grasped his bow more tightly and checked his surroundings to make sure he would not forget where the shelter lay. It blended in with the land perfectly. In fact, if he didn't know that it was there, he would have thought the hillock had always existed like so._

_He turned away and began walking blindly in one direction. He decided on a whim to go back to where the village had once stood. It felt wonderful to feel the sun beating down on his face, to feel the breeze brushing his neck… He paused a moment to relish the joy of escaping the black nothingness of the shelter. He would not have survived hiding half so well had it not been for the constant support of his lovely wife, he mused idly._

_The farmer neared the village and stopped. The smoking ruins lay on the plain like a black mess marring the surrounding beauty. The shape of mountains rose up dimly in the background like always. But that was not what had caught his attention._

_Figures were moving in the village, sifting through the ashes, examining the foundations where once a house had stood. The farmer froze—were these friends or foes? If he moved, he might catch their attention; if he stayed still, there was little chance of him escaping once they did notice him._

_Then he saw the most welcome sight of all—a fluttering pennant bearing a white horse on an emerald green background. The King's Éored had come at last._

* * *

"You mean to say that we're looking for an old wives' tale?"

I turned round and sent a furious glare at the speaker. It was Belden (of course). Before I could say or do something I might later regret, Sodred intervened. "Do you have a better idea, Devonsson?" My brother cast a gimlet eye on the other man, who quailed under the fierce look.

Without another word, Sodred rode to the front of the column. Every horse was laden down with bundles of food and valuables (as well as children). Able-bodied adults walked. The men were armed (as were most of the women, some more unexpectedly than others—I knew for a fact that every one of our serving maids carried a small weapon of some kind).

But although we searched and searched, it seemed it would all be in vain, until Anwyn, who had been looking through the nearby grasses instead of scouring the hillock itself, sent up a shout. "I think I've found something!" Many hurried over with picks and shovels. Soon what was unmistakably a tunnel entrance emerged from the plain.

With lit torches held high, Anwyn (still bearing her shovel) and I set forth down the tunnel. It was long, with a ceiling just high enough for—for horses to walk down. And at the end was a large space, large enough to fit … to fit a village. I stared and stared and then stared some more. "These are indeed strange days," I at last muttered. "Dreams and legends spring to life out of the grass…"*

* * *

_Léofa himself was there, and the farmer led the King into the shelter. The King gazed round with wonder, as did the villagers gaze at their lord. Then Brytta King brought the village forth into the sunlight._

_That night Léofa drove the orcs off the plains, and for the rest of his reign he battled the monsters tirelessly, forcing them back into the mountain strongholds whence they had come._

_And as for the farmer? He became one of the King's chief advisors, known for his wise council and imaginative yet practical advice."_

I looked around the shelter as I finished the tale. Cenhelm was fast asleep, as were most of the other stable boys. But Danmarr still looked up at me with wide eyes. "Was that true?"

"It's up to you to decide that: it's an old wives' tale."

* * *

*This quotation is from T_he Two Towers_ Chapter 2: The Riders of Rohan (there spoken by Éomer). I had fun making up mythology, so I hope it was acceptable.


	16. Esto Lux

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, especially not the stuff in italics, which is pretty much lifted word-for-word from _The Two Towers_ Chapter 7: Helm's Deep. Also, 'Esto Lux' means 'let there be light' in Latin. Enjoy!

* * *

There was an air of festivity among the burnt timbers and ruined homes. Oh, we mourned the loss of houses and belongings, but it was mitigated by the underlying current of life. For we were all alive, all well, and that was always something to celebrate. Sure, some buildings had been burnt, but Alricsloft itself was in good health. As my brother had said gently to a grieving mother whose home had been lost, "it is not the buildings that make up a village but the people who live in it." (It was a rather clichéd thing to say, but he managed to pull it off.)

And every villager had survived the night, every single one of us. My own house had went unscathed, as had most of the buildings in the center of the village. The invading army must have been in a hurry, I thought grimly, for the destruction, although devastating, had been far less than expected. I thought of Théodred, and my heart clenched.

Then someone elbowed me in the ribs. "Take a bowl already, Saffi," Sodred advised me merrily. "You're holding up the line."

We were outside, in line for a bowl of stew cooked up by Ama, the old women of the village, and the smallest children (although they, granted, had spent more time crawling around or trying to eat the food than actually preparing it). After a morning's hard work of rebuilding homes, everyone was tired and hungry. It had been long, backbreaking work. For every building that we fixed, there were three others that had to be pulled down and taken apart. There were no trees nearby, so the only material available was lumber salvaged from those homes too damaged to be saved.

We had emerged from the shelter with the sunrise to find the village still smoking slightly. There had been gasps of shock from various members of the group, who had obviously not quite believed my brother yesterday when he had spoken of our danger. I hadn't been able to resist glancing over at Sodred, who caught my gaze grimly; _what a horrid way to be vindicated_, he seemed to be saying, and I thoroughly agreed.

But the mood had shifted ever so subtly—from despair and fear to joy and hope, and so now here we were, feasting outside after a morning's work of building and repairing, of mending our homes and our village. Sodred and Anselm had dragged the long benches and tables out from my house, and now the whole village was gathered round, seated together, feasting and being gay. It was still a bittersweet feeling, though, I mused as I squeezed in between Elise and Lyna. For we had no idea how things had gone anywhere else in the Mark.

* * *

_At last Aragorn and Théodred stood above the great gates, heedless of the darts of the enemy. As they looked forth they saw the eastern sky grow pale. Then Aragorn raised his empty hand, palm outward in token of parley._

_The Orcs yelled and jeered. "Come down! Come down!" they cried. "Bring out your king! We are the fighting Uruk-hai. We will fetch him from his hole, if he does not come. Bring out your skulking king!"_

"_The king stays or comes at his own will," said Théodred coldly._

"_Then what are you doing here?" they answered. "Why do you look out?"_

"_We looked out to see the dawn," said Aragorn._

"_What of the dawn?" they jeered. "We are the fighting Uruk-hai."_

"_None knows what the new day shall bring him," countered Aragorn calmly. "Get you gone, ere it turn to your evil."_

_"Get down or we will shoot you from the wall," they cried. "This is no parley. You have nothing to say."_

"_I have still this to say," answered Théodred in a resounding voice, and it carried across the whole of the Deep. "No enemy has yet taken the Hornburg. Depart, or not one of you will be spared. Not one will be left alive to take back tidings to the North. You do not know your peril."_

_So great a power and royalty was revealed in the two, as they stood there alone above the ruined gates before the host of their enemies, that any man watching would have paused, and looked behind himself, or up doubtfully at the sky. But the Orcs laughed with loud voices; and a hail of darts and arrows whistled over the wall, as Aragorn and Théodred leaped down._

_There was a roar and a blast of fire. The archway of the gate above which they had stood a moment before crumbled and crashed in smoke and dust. The barricade was scattered as if by a thunderbolt. The two men ran to the king's tower._

_The Uruk-hai swarmed up and through the rubble; there were shouts and cries as Men and Orcs clashed once more. But the invading force was so terrible that it seemed nothing could halt its way. And many found that what little hope was left now fled in the face of such an onslaught. _

_And then, sudden and terrible, from the tower above, the sound of the great horn of Helm rang out._

"_Helm! Helm!" the Riders shouted. "Helm is arisen and comes back to war. Helm for Théoden King!"_

_And with that shout the king came. His horse was white as snow, golden was his shield, and his spear was long. At his right hand was Aragorn, Elendil's heir, at his left Théodred, Théoden's own. Light sprang in the sky. Night departed._

"_Forth Eorlingas!" With a cry and a great noise they charged. Down from the gates they roared, over the causeway they swept, and they drove through the hosts of Isengard as a wind among grass. So King Théoden rode from Helm's Gate and clove his path to the great Dike. There the company halted. Light grew bright about them. Shafts of the sun flared above the eastern hills and glimmered on their spears. But they sat silent on their horses, and they gazed down upon the Deeping-coomb._

_The land had changed. Where before the green dale had lain, its grassy slopes lapping the ever-mounting hills, there now a forest loomed. Great trees, bare and silent, stood, rank on rank, with tangled bough and hoary head; their twisted roots were buried in the long green grass. Darkness was under them. Between the Dike and the eaves of that nameless wood only two open furlongs lay._

_The hosts of Isengard roared, swaying this way and that, turning from fear to fear. Again the horn sounded from the tower. Down through the break of the Dike charged the king's company. The Orcs reeled and screamed and cast aside both sword and spear. Like a black smoke driven by a mounting wind they fled. Wailing they passed under the waiting shadow of the trees; and from that shadow none ever came again._

* * *

After eating, I had wandered out to where my old tree had once stood. The invading hordes had burned and chopped at it, so now, instead of climbing it as I had less than a year before, I simply sat with my back against the tall stump and rejoiced in the breeze and bright sunshine. But then I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up to find Sodred leaning against the tree beside me.

"Hallo, Saffi. I thought I might find you here."

I grinned. "How are you feeling, new Village Headman?"

He grimaced. "Don't remind me. I just wanted to keep everybody safe, and somehow it turned into this whole Who's-the-Next-Leader-of-Alricsloftt thing." Sodred seated himself on the ground next to me. "I don't want this. I'm not a leader."

I rolled my eyes at this. "Sure you are. Did you see anyone else saving an entire village last night?"

"But that was a fluke—and it wasn't even me who actually figured out how to do it. That was _you_… Sure, I can play around with fancy words and speeches—"

"And you crafted one of the most important treaties in the history of the Mark—"

"Which was your idea."

"Lord Arnalit would never have agreed to it if it wasn't for you. He liked _you_; everyone liked you. They didn't want anything to do with _me_."

"So I'm good at diplomacy. That doesn't make me a leader."

I shrugged. "Well, maybe you're not a born leader. But most leaders aren't, and you're the best option this village has—not to mention that you've got a great support staff in your friends to help you whenever you get stuck." I stood and stretched. "I have faith in you. – Anwyn has faith in you, too," I teased.

But what was that? Something moved in the distance, glinting in the sunlight as it came our direction. Sodred sprang to his feet beside me. "Is that thing moving?"

I nodded and squinted at the column—for column it most certainly seemed to be—that wound its way toward us. "I can't tell whether it's friend or foe, though."

"Damn. – Come on, Saffi. We've got to be ready." And with that he raced back into the village. I bit my lip and followed.

Once again the village emptied into the shelter, this time much more quickly than before. Sodred and I agreed that we would hide at the top of the ridge outside to see who was approaching. I couldn't bring myself to hide inside and wait helplessly to find out last night's outcome. I wanted to see things for myself, to face whatever fate might be head-on.

The procession was traveling at a fast clip. They were much closer now. And there… there were _horses_. Sodred and I looked at each other. "Orcs don't ride horses," I murmured at last.

Sodred shook his head slowly. "Men ride horses." We looked at each other; then we scrambled down the ridge together to greet the newcomers.

The Riders galloped up in a fine display of horsemanship; just when I thought Sodred and I were either going to be bowled over or ignored completely, the leader halted abruptly dead in front of us. He was clothed in battered armor stained in orc blood. Much of it was fresh. He looked tired, and his beard was mussed.

He was also wearing a crown and looked like an older version of Théodred.

Without so much as glancing at each other, Sodred and I knelt as one person to Théoden son of Thengel, lord of the Riddermark and king of the Horse Lords.

"Arise, young Rohirrim," the king said in Westron. "Are you the only survivors?"

"No, my lord," Sodred replied, looking the king straight in the eye. I was impressed by this. "Our entire village is alive and well."

"Really?" Théoden King eyed the burnt ruins critically and then scanned the plains as if to find this mysterious shelter. "Where exactly is everyone, then?"

Sodred and I looked at each other and grinned. "All yours, Headman," I murmured and then stepped back.

While my brother explained the tale, I looked around at the other riders curiously. Among the grim Eorlingas were Gandalf on his white horse, and Gimli and Legolas on another, and Aragorn, and Éomer, and… and there was Théodred. Our eyes met and held.

"We would like to view this miracle for ourselves." The king's words broke through my momentary trance, and I wrenched my gaze away from Théodred with difficulty.

"No problem, my lord," Sodred said easily. "Though I don't know if everyone will fit." The king dismounted, followed by a few riders close by (I suspected they were part of the King's Guard), and followed my brother on foot to the shelter entrance. As Sodred called out the password, I lagged behind, trying to regain my composure. Just when I thought I had won back my self-control, I saw that Théodred had wheeled back and was now approaching me.

He dismounted a bit unsteadily, and then for a long moment we just stood before each other mutely. What was there to say? Or rather, what should I chose from the long list of things to tell? Like the fact that separation had made a few things very clear to me...

(Granted, I hadn't been sure just _how_ I felt for a while; but the mere act of holding his letter in my hands had forced me to examine my feelings, to decide whether I even wanted to read the it—for it felt that to read the letter was to acknowledge the feelings of its author, and people usually don't write each other unless they're related… or married.)

I thought of our parting, of all the things I had left unsaid or repressed. No, I could not let that happen again. So I pushed back my fears and managed to blurt out, "I missed you. – I read your letter. But I didn't have time to write back, or..." I wished I could have.

The next thing I knew, he had crossed the remaining distance between us and pulled me into his arms. It wasn't a suffocating embrace like my brother's, but warm, gentle, and comforting. I rested my head against Théodred's chest and sighed in release.

At last he released me and held me out to get a better look.

"Béma, what happened to your arm?"

I grinned up into those lovely blue eyes. "It's nice to see you, too, Théodred."

He smiled at me warmly and pulled me back into his embrace. Then he asked again, "So what happened to you? How did this," indicating my right arm, "happen?"

I scanned over the last day's events. "I was dueling, and... well, you know how those things go."

Théodred's grip tightened. "Why? Who?"

I decided to ignore the first question. "A…er, acquaintance of mine. – Those Dunlendings are really good with daggers, you know."

"What?"

I leaned my head on his chest and tried to sooth him. Théodred had gone all tense and angry for some reason. "He doesn't want to kill me anymore, so don't worry."

"WHAT?"

"I won the duel, so now we're friends."

Théodred took a few deep, steadying breaths. Then he said very calmly and deliberately, "You. Are Friends. With. A Dunlending."

"Well, actually, he's now a friend of the Mark, not just me. Sodred's got the treaty, by the way."

"A treaty," Théodred repeated faintly.

"Yes."

"A treaty(!)."

"Yes. – You _did_ ask Sodred to check up on the borders?"

He nodded carefully.

"Oh, good. Then it _was_ legal."

His eyes widened. "Saffi, what did you do?"

"_I_ didn't do anything. Well, not officially," I amended.

"A treaty. With a Dunlending. – Which Dunlending?"

"Lord Arnalit."

"The chieftain." Worlds of disbelief were contained in this single word.

"Yes."

He shook his head wonderingly. "And there I was, wondering why there weren't any Dunlendings present last night and thanking my lucky stars when I should have just been thanking _you_." Théodred looked down at me and chuckled. "Knowing you, I should have guessed." Then he pulled me into his arms again. I relaxed against him, enjoying the sensation of just being near, of being close to him.

But reality intruded before long. "Where are you going?"

"To Isengard," he replied quietly and kissed my hair. "To face Saruman once and for all. And what of you? Will the village stay put?"

"I think so," I admitted. "After all, the danger lies to the East, not West."

He smiled, something I felt rather than saw. I was too busy pressing my face into his chest again, never mind the blood-stained armor. "What—you are not riding to war with us? You, so skilled with the dagger?"

I blushed. "I hope not. And someone with sense has got to stay behind and take care of the Mark, if only this corner."

He pulled me even closer and kissed my brow. Then the sounds of people and horses approached us. Reluctantly Théodred unwrapped his arms from around me and mounted Eldoran just as the king and his company returned. Théoden was astride his own horse, Snowmane, and now looked at his son expectantly. I did my best imitation of a rock, hoping the king would not notice me with his son and put two and two together.

"One moment, Father," Théodred called out. "Sorensson, the treaty." It was a command, not a question. It made him look very regal.

Théoden King raised an eyebrow. He looked just like his son when he did that. (Or rather it was the other way round.) Sodred ignored the waves of skepticism and disbelief emanating from the king and his riders and pulled out the scroll, presenting it to the king with due aplomb. Gandalf, however, looked from Sodred to me with—well, not an open smile, but it would have been one if he were the open-smile type. He caught my gaze and gave me the smallest of nods of approval. I got the feeling that somehow (not surprisingly) he had learned of yesterday's events.

Théoden King, meanwhile, perused the document thoroughly. He looked baffled but relieved all the same. Then he looked at Théodred. "This man, Sorensson; he is an envoy?"

Théodred replied smoothly, "I appointed him about a month ago." _When Wormtongue ruled_ hung unspoken in the air for a tense moment.

Then the king sighed, handed the scroll to his deputy, and inclined his head briefly to Sodred, much to my surprise. Sodred said something in return in a low voice, too low for anyone else to hear, except perhaps Legolas, since Elves are supposed to have excellent hearing. Then, just when I thought I couldn't be surprised any more, Théoden King turned his sharp gaze my way, and Snowmane took a few steps toward me.

"Your brother says this treaty was your doing."

"Sort of, milord."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I…er, set up the meeting with my brother and the Dunlendings."

"Really. How did you make this first connection?"

I winced. Well, this was awkward. "I … um, came across the chieftain, and we found that we had a lot in common."

The king's eyebrow went even higher. "And he accepted your…overtures—just like that? No argument or discord?"

I gave up and decided to tell the truth—well, the consolidated version. After all, this was my king and liege I was answering. "Well, we tried to kill each other in a duel; I won barely; Sodred showed up to bring me home, and together we convinced the chieftain to write the treaty."

Silence. Then the king asked carefully (in that tone of voice that suggests he wanted to choke from surprise and disbelief but couldn't because he was king), "You fight?" I nodded. "What weapon?"

"Daggers, my lord."

Théoden King was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "We are grateful for your deeds, Lady Sorenna." I recognized a dismissal when I heard one. I sank into a deep curtsy and then backed away. The riders formed a column, preparing for departure.

Théodred trotted forward but stopped at the last moment and paused to look at me. "We shall meet again soon; I am sure of it."

I smiled the best I could at him. "I know." But I don't know if he heard or not, for they were already riding away to Isengard.

* * *

**END OF PART II**

* * *

A/N: As I said above, this part in italics is all from _The Two Towers_ (with minor adjustments for Théodred's presence, of course). I cut out the bit with Erkenbrand because, given the changed circumstances, there was now no reason for him to have left the Hornburg.


	17. Rest Stop for the Weary

Disclaimer: Tolkien the Great (and probably Christopher as well) owns everything. I think. Well, whoever does own LOTR, it's not me.

* * *

**PART III**

_"But he, rebellious, seeks a storm, as if in storms there is peace" (Lermontov)_

* * *

_The Grey Company passed swiftly over the plain, and so came to Dunharrow as darkness fell. The Lady Éowyn greeted them and was glad of their coming; for no mightier men had she seen than the Dúnedain and the fair sons of Elrond; but on Aragorn most of all her eyes rested._

_At last she said: "Lords, you are weary and shall now go to your beds with such ease as can be contrived in haste. But tomorrow fairer housing shall be found for you."_

_But Aragorn said: "Nay, lady, be not troubled for us! If we may lie here tonight and break our fast tomorrow, it will be enough. For I ride on an errand most urgent, and with the first light of morning we must go."_

_She smiled on him and said: "Then it was kindly done, lord, to ride so many miles out of your way to bring tidings to Éowyn, and to speak with her in her exile."_

"_Indeed no man would count such a journey wasted," said Aragorn; "and yet, lady, I could not have come hither, if it were not that the road which I must take leads me to Dunharrow."_

_And she answered as one that likes not what is said: "Then, lord, you are astray, for out of Harrowdale no road runs east or south; and you had best return as you came."_

"_Nay, lady," said he, "I am not astray; for I walked in this land ere you were born to grace it. There is a road out of this valley, and that road I shall take. Tomorrow I shall ride by the Paths of the Dead."_

_Then she stared at him as one that is stricken, and her face blanched.…*_

* * *

It was a long, weary climb to the fortress of Dunharrow. Every hundred feet or so the sloped road did a switchback, which was convenient for defenders but not for anyone trying to get inside. Which, again, was probably the point. It didn't help that at each turning, narrower and sharper than the last, there stood an old statue of a Púkel-man. They were squat and ugly, their worn faces leering out at us from the gloom that a spring thunderstorm of massive proportions decided to unleash while we climbed; the downpour ceased soon after we went inside (of course). _And of _course_ the entrance had to be cut out of a sheer cliff-face_, I grumbled to myself. And did I mention that it was a really, really long steep climb? And that, as a prairie girl, I was clearly not meant to be quite so high up?

We were at Dunharrow because the king had called for a muster. The battle of the Hornburg had severely depleted his Éoreds, and since he was going to be riding off to Gondor soon, he needed more soldiers to ride with him. At the news, Sodred had called a council to see what course of action the village wished to take. My brother himself wanted to go fight for his king and country; I could see it written plainly in his looks whenever we were alone together. But I had thought it would be a terrible idea for him at least, as village headman, to ride off to war and abandon our village to its fate alone. To my surprise, Sodred had agreed with me, and he had done his best to put such pragmatism over his own personal sentiments.

Unfortunately, no one else had felt the same way. Nearly every able-bodied male of a suitable age had clamored to go fight for their liege-lord. I knew from experience that battles were seriously overrated, but the others, who hadn't had the same sort of introduction to warfare, decided that by Béma they were going to enlist. Sodred was the only one to ask what exactly they thought was going to happen to all the women and children being left behind. There was no way he could counter such unanimous sentiment about leaving (especially since he privately agreed), so instead he made them swear to first accompany the other villagers to the refugee camps at Dunharrow. So after a grueling five-day journey through the mountains, here we were at last.

The great entrance hall was lit with flaming torches placed along the walls at short intervals. The flickering waves of bright light that washed over the crowd made everything seem a bit surreal, as though this were simply a dream and if I pinched myself hard enough, I would wake up in my bed back home and everything would be all better again. But considering that my feet had already been trodden on several times and were still aching, this, like the pain, had to be real.

Our group milled uncertainly in the hall as we watched people rush all around us. No one knew where we were supposed to be going, so it seemed better to wait until someone else told us what to do rather than run around blindly through unknown corridors in the side of a mountain. It felt a bit stifling in there, packed in among everyone in these halls of stone. I wondered what it must be like in the caves below and swallowed hard. I hadn't liked the shelter, and that had only had a roof of sod. And now here, below us, thousands of tons of rock pressed down…

I tried to distract myself by looking around. Some said this place had been built by the Drúedain (the Sindarin name; we Eorlingas call them Púkel-men), that had once lived here. Or so Elise said at least. She had found it interesting that although our capital was near the mountains, just about everyone lived on the plains (except for those weirdos in Eastfold, we joked), and none of our mountain strongholds had actually been built by Eorlingas. She found it interesting indeed. I … I wanted to get back outside. Now. Even the rain had to be better than standing around in a mountain cavern, right?

I decided to explore—well, at least a little bit, anyway. While my fellow villagers huddled together nervously and whispered among themselves, Elise and I wove our way through the throng of people traveling to and fro and wandered over to the very edge of the hall. The stone walls looked incredibly old, and there were strange carvings on them. I ran my hand over them curiously. Elise looked ready to start taking rubbings and notes; too bad she didn't have any parchment with her.

"Admiring the décor?"

I spun round. Théodred was standing just behind me and smiling widely. He was also incredibly close. His usual smell was mixed with the scents of armor-oil and horse. I squeaked out his name in shock and joy, and before I could get anything else out he caught me up in a warm embrace, not really caring who saw or that I was soaking wet from the rain. Elise raised an eyebrow and said she'd be back; then she slid off farther along the wall to give us some privacy, bless her soul.

"How did you get here, dear one?" Théodred asked without letting go of me.

"On a horse and then on foot like everyone else," I teased. "And how did you know that I _was_ here?"

He grinned. "I've been up here for a while; Father and I have been going over the defenses for when we're gone. I actually just walked in, and since I caught sight of you, I wanted to say hello."

"That's nice," I mumbled absently. He smelled very nice indeed. His smell was less pleasant and more compelling. "Why are you going to Gondor? Sodred muttered something about an oath, and Elise tried to explain the history to me, but I wasn't really paying attention." We had been struggling up the slope, muddy and steep, so I had been mainly focused on not falling off the edge. I had never been so high in my life, and the overwhelming sense of vertigo had not been a pleasant experience. Not to mention the THUNDER and LIGHTNING. I was used to thunderstorms, but not being so high up and close to them.

"Gondor's in trouble." Théodred looked down at me and then muttered, "I want to tell you the whole of it, so we'd better go somewhere more private. Yes?" I nodded acquiescence, and he immediately led me through the crowded hall, down a series of twisting corridors, and at last into a small room that looked to be a … supply closet? I shrugged mentally and returned to the subject at hand.

Théodred leaned against the wall and sighed. "The Dark Lord… Horse Lords, I don't know how to go about this. –Did you ever learn of the end of the Second Age and the Great Alliance?"

I nodded mutely.

"Well… Oh, Béma. Saffi…" He drew a deep breath. "There's no other way to say this. The Dark Lord—he has risen again."

There was a roaring in my ears, and I swayed on my feet. I felt around instinctively for a chair. Théodred opened his arms to me, and I fell into them without a second thought. Sauron, back, here on Arda, wreaking vengeance for all those years of banishment, evil returned and even angrier than before. My head spun. We were doomed. Doomed. That was why the East was darkening, why the land seemed to lose a bit of its fertility each year, why orc raids had increased so heavily, why the darkness had become so oppressive. When we were younger, Sodred and I had used to lay out in the grass and count the stars. But each year there had been just a few less to see, and now I knew why: the darkness of Mordor itself was drowning out the light. The light was leaving...

When I managed to recover, I found that my face had somehow buried itself into Théodred's chest. Without the thick armor, I could actually feel his muscles right through his shirt and tunic. I wondered what they would feel like bare, what they would look like… Oh, dear. What was I doing? What was I _thinking_?

Someone was stroking my hair. No, _Théodred_ was stroking my hair. I liked this immensely. His presence always set my blood thrumming, and standing in his arms like this made me burn… Horse Lords. How was I going to make it through this? For however I felt about Théodred, it had to stay with me. We were still 'just friends,' so friends we would remain. Just friends. Horse poo. It figured, though. A month ago I had feared being more than friends, had wished fervently to stay that way (or at least had thought it was my wish). Now… now I wanted so much more. And now I could do nothing but wonder at such a want of penetration on my behalf, or fear that perhaps, instead of seeing too little as before, I might now fancy too much.** But nevertheless his presence was also incredibly comforting; I felt as though I could take on all the hordes of Mordor as long as Théodred was by my side.

But with my face buried so deeply into his chest, I couldn't really breathe very well. With great reluctance, I lifted my head so I look Théodred straight in the face.

"Truly?"

He nodded. "The White Wizard… or rather, Saruman, that bastard, allied himself with the Dark Lord. And now hundreds of thousands of beasts straight from Mordor are charging straight for Gondor's capital. As soon as the Red Arrow arrives, we ride for Minas Tirith."

"Oh, Théo…" Then we held each other tightly. There was nothing at all to say, so I didn't try.

At last, attempting to change the subject to something a bit brighter, Théodred asked why my village had decided to come to Dunharrow instead of staying in our handy-dandy shelter back home.

"You know how Théoden King called for a re-mustering of his Éoreds? Well, so many of the village men wanted to go fight that Sodred eventually decided that we all would head here. That way the women and children could stay here, safe, at Dunharrow, while their manly protectors rode off to Gondor with the king."

"And you are staying, sweet, or will you ride with us as our most favored warrior?" I cringed at the thought. He touched my cheek in concern. "What is it?"

"I don't like to fight," I admitted. "I was so afraid… I learned to fight because I wanted to be able to protect myself, and my friends, if I have to. It wasn't like I really had a choice at Isen or in that duel, and I don't… I don't want to have to go through that again."

His arms tightened round me, and he bowed his head and briefly kissed my cheek. I tried to ignore the thrill that this caused. "I know," Théodred whispered softly, his mouth close to my ear. It was a bit distracting; my mind kept wondering what it would feel like for those lips to come just a little bit closer… "No man in his right mind likes to kill. – Saffi, I _hate_ war. I only do it because it's my job and because there's no one else to do it. … I long for the day when young men don't have to be raised first and foremost as warriors—but I fear that day is a long way off."

It was odd, how he addressed me. When we were relatively alone together like usual, like our current position, he used teasing endearments that raised my hopes and crushed them simultaneously (for they were so familiar and fell so easily from his tongue that they did not feel _meant_ the way I wanted, and I didn't know whether he was like this just with me or with all women). But when he whispered a secret to me, like he did now, Théodred used my given name. This happened rarely, but when it did, he always made it sound intensely personal, as if nothing in existed in the world except us, as if he knew just how much I cared for him and felt the exact same way. But these moments, and the look that came with them, were so fleeting I was never sure afterward whether it had ever existed outside my mind. He was an enigma, I decided. – A handsome enigma. A _very_ handsome one.

"Well, I'd better get you back," he sighed at last. We wandered back down the corridors to the main hall; we didn't talk, but it was a companionable silence, not an awkward one. I noticed that Théodred did not let go of my hand as we went, and I wondered why. People were passing by, and surely someone would notice if the crown prince of Rohan was holding someone's hand. Or maybe not; _maybe this happened all the time,_ I thought with sudden horror. My mind rebelled instantly. Théodred and I were only friends, and he had my arm linked round his like any noblewoman. He was just treating me like a female friend, I reasoned; it wasn't like we had started a… a _dalliance_ or something.

We got to the hall just as someone finally decided to take my village to a refuge area. I let go of Théodred reluctantly and hurried over to my friends, but not before he told me that he would try to come see me when he could.

As I scuttled down the twisting corridors behind my fellow villagers, Elise appeared at my side. "Well, then, Saffi. You can't tell me that you're _still_ indifferent to him…"

I blushed. "Elise, however I feel, there is NOTHING between us, understand?"

She quirked an eyebrow skyward. "Really? I've heard the stories, and…" But she was cut off when we entered one of the many refugee caverns. In the hustle and bustle of moving in, so to speak, there was no time for such a private conversation. Elise huffed and told me, "Later, Saffi. But I'd put a bit more faith in my own feelings if I were you, okay?"

* * *

Two hours later, everyone was all settled in, and we'd met (and Sodred had made friends with) the two other villages who were sharing our little cave. I felt very closed in. I wanted to get out. OUT. Sodred must have caught the look on my face, for he came over hurriedly.

"What's wrong, Saffi?"

"Just… this!" I waved my arm around at the cave, roomy and well-lit, but still a CAVE.

Sodred slung one arm round my shoulders companionably. "I like the outdoors, too," he confessed. "But you've got to admit this is better than nothing."

I grinned. He always has way too much enthusiasm, and it's scarily infectious. "I am forced to agree with you. But still, is there any chance I could go up and get a breath of fresh air?"

"Only on the ramparts, they say," said an old man I did not know. "I'm Eamon, and you can only go the ramparts if you've got a weapon."

"Well, then, how do I get there?"

He looked a bit surprised, but Sodred shepherded him away with a discussion of possible inter-village trade for after the war. I grabbed Elise's arm, and we made for the door with haste.

* * *

Up on the wall, I could see for miles. The mountains were giant, rising up to towering heights all around us. When I looked south, all I could see were mountaintops, stretching far and away into the hazy distance. And in a few days' time Théodred—and the king, and the Éoreds, and even my brother—would be headed straight for the armies of evil. By the Valar... How many good men would have to die before this evil was defeated (if it _could_ be defeated)? What if Théodred died? What if _Sodred _died?

No. There was no point in worrying about something I had no power over, so I wasn't going to. Instead I looked up at the bright bright sky, a piercing pure blue—just like Théodred's eyes. The sky stretched out beautiful and boundless, just like back home. I smiled. Different land, but same old skies. That was a nice thought: that even when they went to Gondor, it would be the same blue sky smiling down on those I loved.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

I turned round. Five soldiers were standing in front of me. Several looked… familiar. I squinted through the dirt and armor at their faces. "Colm? – Almon?"

"I knew she'd remember!" Colm crowed exultantly. Almon just grinned and reached forward to clasp my hands, the typical greeting of warriors. I was touched that both men treated me as one of their own.

The other three men shifted uncomfortably until Colm turned and said, "Miss Saffi, this is Deputy Grimbold, who you probably know; Lord Elfhelm, Captain of the Wold; and Deputy Éothain of Eastfold." Each man bowed as Colm spoke his name. I curtseyed and introduced Elise.

Grimbold was tall and … well, seemed a bit grim, but he surprised me by saying, "Not to be forward, ma'am, but weren't you at the Fords of Isen?" Our eyes met. I did remember him now.

"Indeed, sir. In fact, I believe you saved my life once or twice."

He smiled then, his mouth unmoved but his eyes warming. "And you saved my lord's, so we are even."

I blushed. Elfhelm and Éothain, meanwhile, turned to the three Riders who had been at Isen questioningly. Before I could stop him Colm launched into a long epic tale of how brave and heroic I had been, but luckily Grimbold stopped him before he got too carried away. Théodred's deputy nodded at me with a humorous look and then gave a nicely condensed version of events that, in my opinion, was still too kind.

"You mean to say that a mere _girl_ saved the Prince's life?"

Elise and I scowled simultaneously. Elise, who was possibly even more claustrophobic than I, had not been in the greatest of moods, and now she looked ready to slap whoever had spoken. However, she managed to wipe the look off her face so quickly I was impressed.

Grimbold suddenly managed to look incredibly menacing without moving a single muscle. Elise whispered, "He has _got_ to teach me how to do that." I agreed fervently.

It was the younger Deputy Éothain who had spoken. He was about twenty-eight, I guessed, the same age as Éomer. "I am not questioning your tale, good sirs," he amended. "I just wanted to know what brought one so inexperienced as she to a field of battle." He turned to me. "What flight of fancy brought you to the Fords? And how were you so lucky as to actually save a life? What idiotic sense of pride made you think you could survive in such bloodshed?"

Now it was my turn to want to slap him. How dare he question me like that? Fool! I could knife him right now right in the gullet before he could even draw to defend himself! Why, that little bast…

Elise stomped on my foot hurriedly before I could say anything I might regret. While I tried to stay upright, she elbowed me out of the way and stepped directly in front of me. "Excuse me, _deputy_. I don't believe we've met before," she began sweetly. I stared at her. What was she doing? She ignored me and continued, her voice steadily hardening, "As Deputy Grimbold just stated, my friend here, _Lady_ Saffi, saved the life of Prince Théodred, our king's _only_ _son_ and _heir_. As such, _she_ is a _hero_, and _I_ for one _recognize_ her as such. Now good day." Her voice could have frozen a young tree into solid ice. She gave him the shallowest curtsey I have ever seen and turned to the other Riders, who all looked a bit dumbfounded. Completely ignoring Éothain while somehow making the snub seem unforced, she started up a lively conversation about the various virtues of Shieldmaidens and their extensive role in the history of the Riddermark.

Éothain stared at her with ill-disguised shock. I glanced at Elfhelm, who seemed to know him and thus might defend him, but Elfhelm looked ready to start laughing out loud at the younger Captain's misfortune. Éothain was clearly on his own. Eventually he muttered an excuse about seeing to his horse and scuttled off.

* * *

All in all, it was a nice morning. There was a palpable air of tension, but despite it, or perhaps because of it, everyone insisted on acting as genial as possible. It wasn't very believable, but it was nice of them to try, anyhow. Apparently two nights ago a great company had ridden through, and all those refugees who had been there told us about it excitedly. Eamon said that they had been Riders mixed with others called Dúnedain, the North Men. The Dúnedain were supposedly "stout men and lordly" and had made our own Riders "look almost as boys beside them; for they were grim men of face, worn like weathered rocks."* Or at least so Eamon and the others said. The Dúnedain had stayed the night in the fortress, entertained by Lady Éowyn herself, but had went on—and here all paused for dramatic effect—the _Paths of the Dead_.

"What _are_ the paths of the dead?" I asked Elise.

She replied in Westron,

"_Over the land there lies a long shadow,_

_westward reaching wings of darkness._

_The Tower trembles; to the tombs of kings_

_doom approaches. The Dead awaken;_

_for at the hour come the oathbreakers:_

_at the Stone of Erech they shall stand again_

_and here there a horn in the hills ringing._

_Whose shall the horn be? Who shall call them_

_from the grey twilight, the forgotten people?_

_The heir of him to whom the oath they swore._

_From the North shall he come, need shall drive him:_

_he shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead."*_

"But who—?"

Her eyes shone. "The heir of Elendil!"

Well, then. We surely lived among legends indeed.

* * *

Down in the valley Harrowdale below was the warriors' encampment. My fellow villagers had finally run out of complaints around midday, so after a late luncheon Sodred gathered his men, and they all got ready to tramp back down to the valley and enlist properly. I shot death-glares at my brother until he agreed to let me ride down with them. There was no way I was going to let him go down there by himself when the king could decide to depart at any minute. By Béma, when Sodred rode off, I was going to be there, sobbing and waving and generally making an utter fool of myself. Sodred had laughed at the very idea, but Ælfred had whispered to me that it would indeed be nice of me to be there for my brother when he departed. So I stuffed a tent roll into a pack and headed down on Mai right behind the other warriors.

The camp was large and busy, men weaving in and out, running or sitting, sometimes walking a horse, sometimes cleaning armor, others doing training exercises or talking among themselves. There was little festivity; all knew they would be riding as soon as the Red Arrow arrived. I shivered slightly even though the sun still shone bright and stayed close to Sodred as he signed up with Théodred's Éored and pitched his tent. The forced light mood of the morning was slowly vanishing as the sun lowered itself ever closer to the horizon.

Just as Sodred finished, Théodred himself sauntered up. He took one look at me clinging to Sodred's shadow and then at my brother's slightly suffocated face. Then he grabbed my arm and dragged me away. "Only for a bit, Saffi," he promised. "But he needs to be by himself for a bit. He has to reconcile himself to what he's about to do, and it's hard to do that when you're standing there looking all mournful at him."

"Oh," I muttered sheepishly. "I just…"

"I know," Théodred said kindly. "Which is why you need to come and distract my cousin from tailing her own brother."

* * *

"Éomer! Well, met, cousin!" Éomer was standing with a young woman about four or five years older than me, tall and slender like a sapling. Her hair was a pale blonde and her dress a pale green, the color of the ground a few days after the spring thaw. She, too, looked a bit cold upon seeing us. Or perhaps upon seeing me. I suddenly felt a bit like an outsider.

Upon seeing us, Éomer turned and started. Then he greeted me like one of his soldiers, shaking my hands with his and saying brightly, "Well met, Lady Saffi. Your brother has been promoted of late, eh? A treaty with Dunlendings?" He shook his head at me in mock disbelief.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. That had been one heck of an interesting day. "Legal loopholes are quite fun to work with."

Éomer opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. "Wait—What?"

Théodred shook his head in a tight, barely noticeable movement and muttered, "Later. In private?"

Éomer grinned. "I can't wait to hear this one. Oh, Lady Saffi, this is my sister. Éowyn, this is Lady Saffi."

I curtseyed deeply to her. I'd heard much from the soldiers (not to mention Théodred and Éomer themselves) about her, and all had spoken well of her, of her strength and grace and pale beauty. "I am honored to meet you, my lady," I murmured. "I have heard much about you."

She looked skeptical.

"It was good," I promised. "And no, it wasn't all from them." I jerked a thumb at Théodred and Éomer, who started and then looked a bit guilty. "All _I_ heard was complimentary."

Her face relaxed just a bit, and she replied carefully, "My cousin and brother both say you can fight. What weapons can you use?"

"I'm good with daggers, okay with a bow, and horrid with a sword."

"Oh. I… I used to train with a sword, but I have never used daggers. What are they like?"

I pulled out a dagger; even though my right arm was still mending, I hadn't felt safe making this journey without some sort of protection. "As you can see, they're not very big, and they fit easily under one's clothes." I handed it to her. "They're a bit heavier than you would expect, though; I try to use only the best steel. Too bad my best dagger broke, or I would show it to you."

"Which one was that?" Théodred interrupted. "The one you…" He grimaced slightly and went on, "the one you threw? What happened?"

I glanced over to him. "It was that one. – It was broken in the duel." _If I ever see Arnalit again, I'll ask him where he gets his blades_. His daggers had been of a much better quality than mine.

"You can throw these as well?" Éowyn was inspecting the blade thoroughly and testing the balance.

"Over short distances, yes. Potentially deadly if it hits the right spot. But throwing is always a last resort."

"When was this, then, that you were so desperate that you threw your best dagger?" Her cool grey eyes met mine, and something in their depths arrested me. She had experienced that kind of desperation, I realized. Did others know this? Did her brother know this? From the lighthearted banter he and Théodred were now exchanging, obviously not. I felt unsettled. Did Éowyn even know the depths of her own desperation?

"It was at the Fords of Isen," I said simply and left it at that.

She gave me one more cool, assessing look and then suddenly smiled. It actually reached her eyes a bit, and I suddenly got the impression that she was literally warming up slightly, the frosty exterior melting away somewhat. "So, Lady Saffi, my brother was sequestered in your village all winter? Why, then, is he not yet dead?"

I grinned. "I can't speak for the others, but I myself couldn't choose which one to slay first."

She laughed at this, a clear, bright sound. "You know, I think I'm going to like you. The way Théodred was going on, I wasn't sure about you. But now I see that he was probably right."

"Hey, what about me?" Éomer demanded.

"You don't count," we chorused. Éowyn and I looked at each other in disbelief and then burst out in giggles while Éomer tried to look distressed at this. Théodred just laughed and mockingly consoled the younger man.

"Walk with me," Éowyn ordered and took my arm. As soon as we were out of earshot of her brother and cousin, she said in a low voice, "So what do you think of my cousin?"

"What do mean?" I stammered, a bit uncertain as to her intentions.

"If you had to describe him to me, what would you say?"

"Appearance or personality?"

She blinked at me. "Er… both, I suppose."

"Well, for appearance: tall, even for an Eorling, muscular build, long-ish blonde-and-brown hair, strong nose, thick eyebrows… Bright blue eyes, strong hands, and medium lips. Full beard is dark, but eyebrows and whiskers are a golden blonde color." _Blonde _eyelashes_ as well_, I thought. "Voice a baritone, a bit deeper than most. Character: kind and affectionate but teasing, which could be misconstrued as mocking to someone who doesn't know him. Princely and proud of it, which can be annoying, and definitely not used to taking orders from others. But he's also loyal and brave, and he takes care of his duties and his people before himself." I stopped and considered my words. It felt weird to be talking about him so … so objectively. But as I ran through it quickly in my mind, I was certain I had spoken the honest truth. Théodred was a wonderful man, but like any man he had his faults. I grinned inwardly; I could and had at least tried to help with those. "Is that enough?"

Éowyn had the strangest expression on her face, a mixture of surprise, respect, and something else I could not name. At last she said, "Well. I… was not expecting that."

I waited for her to go on. I wasn't about to ask if I had said something wrong; I had spoken the absolute truth and wasn't about to take anything back.

"But… do you think he's handsome?"

My cheeks pinked. Was it even possible to _not_ think Théodred devastatingly handsome? "He _is_ handsome, but that doesn't have anything to do with it. You asked for a personal description, and although I'm sure many women would agree that he's attractive, one doesn't have to be blonde and six foot tall to fit _that_ bill."

Éowyn was still staring at me. I bit my lip and looked straight back at her. A few weeks ago I would have probably looked at the ground right about now, but something about dueling a Dunlending chieftain and winning had given me some confidence. So I met the White Lady's stare eye for eye. Just when things were about to get awkward, she sighed and turned away. "I am sorry about that. I just…" She faced me again. "You must understand that when Éomer and I first moved to Edoras to live with Uncle, Théodred was twenty-four and already being swarming over by the girls." She made a face. "I know what he and my brother said about you, but I wanted to see for myself."

"Oh." What was I supposed to say to that? And I suddenly remembered the way Théodred had acted when we had first met, how he had expected me to immediately swoon into his arms upon hearing his voice. Silly man! I grinned inwardly; he clearly hadn't told her, if anyone, just what had transpired within our first twenty-four hours of acquaintance. "Do I even want to know what they said about _me_?"

She gave me a lopsided smile. "It was all praise. Although for a while Théodred didn't really want to talk about you." She looked at me curiously. "It was only after Mithrandir—I mean Gandalf—and the others arrived that he opened up."

I bit my lip. If only I had understood my feelings more clearly when he had left! I could at least have left him with some sort of encouragement. And now I had no idea where our relationship was headed or even if it was heading anywhere at all. Oh, well.

"The Lord Aragorn said they had stopped at your village." A pause. "What did you think of him?" Had her cheeks just lost a bit of their usual ivory and gained some … color? _No…_ For some reason I just couldn't imagine them together. Éowyn was too steely and proud for him; he needed someone gentler (and less fragile) to balance out his kingly bearing. He wasn't a king, was he? That little voice in the back of my mind said, _You didn't think Théodred was the heir to a king either._

"Who is he exactly?" Though even I had my suspicions by now.

Éowyn leaned forward conspiratorially. "Lord Aragorn is the _rightful king of Gondor!_"

Well, then. Elise had been right. "Cor." There was really nothing else to say. Éowyn rocked back on her heels and looked at me expectantly. I said hastily, "Well, he looked … kingly. Like he was kind but had the capacity for great harshness if necessary. He notices everything. He seems like a good man, considerate and just."

"That's all?"

"I only saw the man for one day! You can't expect me to just know him instantly," I teased.

She shrugged and the faint blush disappeared. "You're right, of course." She gave me a smile that seemed just a wee bit forced, more steel than merriment. "It is nearly supper-time: let's go back."

* * *

* All single-starred lines/passages are from _The Return of the King_ (Book 5) Chapter 2: The Passing of the Grey Company. The first quotation is spoken by Gimli, the second by Aragorn, and both passages in italics are from this chapter as well.

** This is lifted nearly word-for-word from Jane Austen's classic romance _Pride and Prejudice_.

**A/N:** That's right, another. Upon this umpteenth rewriting of this chapter, I am pleased to announce that I have finally figured out both geography and basic military structure. *pause for applause* -wait, you're not going to applaud?- *sob*

The king is commander-in-chief, head general, etc. Directly under his command are West Marshal, in charge of Westfold and Westemnet; East Marshal, in charge of Eastfold and Eastemnet; and Captain of the Wold, over, obviously, the Wold. (Under Théoden and all previous kings, West and East Marshal were actually Second and Third, the numbering depending on which border was deemed more precarious at the time. According to various Tolkienite websites, the posts were solidified into West and East under Éomer. I'm having Théodred do the same thing.) I've also added the Captain of the Wold (to handle the northern border) and an elite group called the Guard who rank under and answer to the West and East Marshals but are more autonomous; they're pretty much the equivalent to the American Special Forces units.

With this in mind, I have re-ranked Éothain and Elfhelm to better fit my views of their roles in Rohan's army, with Éothain as Éomer's second-in-command, or Deputy, and Elfhelm having the dubious pleasure of being Captain of the Wold.


	18. SupperTime Blues

Disclaimer: J.R.R.T. the Great owns LOTR. I own a copy of said work with Orlando Bloom on the back cover. And Viggo Mortensen. And whoever plays Gimli, and Elijah Wood with curly hair. But no Sean Astin (who plays the amazing Sam). Ah, well. I guess my cover can only hold so many pretty faces :)

* * *

Supper had already begun, and from what I could see of the men huddled round the various campfires, it would be a subdued affair; all were chewing their food in near-silence, most likely lost in thought of the days to come. The muster was not even at half strength, and I found myself wishing along with Théodred the selfish hope that Gondor would not send for aid until the very last possible moment so as to afford us more time to gather our men. Out of the seven Éoreds the Riddermark traditionally had, we had only completely filled two, and one of those was the king's Guard, which was _always _populated.

Éowyn and I had wandered through the camp for a bit, talking of random bits of nonsense. Under her cold exterior, Éowyn was bold and vibrant; she just didn't know it yet. I had a feeling that she had hidden this part of herself for so long—as long as that filthy Wormtongue had been at court—that even she herself wasn't completely aware of it. Usually her gaze remained cool and steady, but underneath I could see bits and pieces of a fiery spirit. How long had she suppressed her warmth that she feared letting it out so?

At length as the sun dipped past the horizon of snow-mounded peaks, a Rider of the king came to find Éowyn, so we parted ways regretfully. I asked if I would be able to talk to her again, and she said gaily that I would soon loathe her, for tomorrow she would be going over Dunharrow's defenses once again. She was silent for a second and then announced that I would be coming along with her; she said laughingly that she needed someone along to keep her attentive and sane.

I set off back to my tent to find Sodred. He was inside his own looking a bit forlorn. "Why the long face, brother? Aren't you going to get something to eat?"

He shrugged and muttered, "I'm not hungry."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Oh, no. You are NOT going without food. Come with me!" And before he could get out of the way, I had grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the tent. "Sodred, where are the other villagers eating?"

"We got split into different companies for better balance," my brother muttered. "I don't know anybody in mine."

I rolled my eyes again. "Like you've ever been afraid of meeting new people!"

"Saffi," he whispered with sudden urgency, grabbing both my wrists, "_I'm not a warrior_. What do I say?"

I stared at him. He had never looked so vulnerable, I realized. "Oh, Sodred, just be yourself. You can be or do anything you want! They know you're not a warrior, and they'll respect you for coming here anyway." I hugged him tightly. "Who's your company leader?"

"Colm Wuffasson."

I could have laughed out loud. "Come along, dear brother. I know Colm, and I think you and he will get along just fine."

* * *

We got about three yards before someone bellowed "HALT!" at us in such an urgent tone that Sodred and I both whirled round immediately. An unlikely sight met my eyes: Captain Éothain and Elise walking side by side. I blinked and looked again. No, they were still there, albeit a little closer. The pair was about fifty yards away, and as they approached, I saw that they were deep in conversation. Though by the looks of things it seemed to be more of a row than a discussion: both were shooting daggers at each other with their eyes, and their voices, though low, were vehement and dangerous. As I watched, Elise's self-control appeared to waver as she snapped out something at Éothain that made his eyes widen.

Before he could respond Elise hiked up her skirts and ran to meet us. "Sodred, Saffi! Boy, am I glad to see you!"

The Captain arrived a moment later. Elise looked ready to say something more—to him or me I'm not sure—but Éothain stepped forward swiftly and bowed to me before anyone else could get a word in edgewise.

"I must apologize to you, Madam, for such uncouth words as I let forth this morning." He looked rueful indeed. "I really am sorry, and I should know better than to underestimate any woman of the Mark. I will not be so foolish again." He gave me a beseeching look. His emotion was genuine, as were his words. _What on Arda had brought such a change about? _I accepted Éothain's apology as graciously as I could and then made brief introductions for my brother.

The Captain last approached Elise. "Madam, I hope thus to have demonstrated to you that there is hope yet left for the men of this world." He bowed low over her hand and kissed it as if she were a queen. "I look forward to sparring with you again in the future." At last he straightened. "Sorensson, ladies." And with a brisk nod, he was off.

Sodred stared at me. I stared at Elise. Elise stared at Éothain. There was a very long period of silence while we all did some quality staring. At last I could stand it no longer and blurted, "So are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

She turned to me at last as though I had just snapped her out of a trance. "He was being a fool like usual. That is ALL."

"He kissed your hand!"

She shot me a withering glare. "Uh-huh. And your point is…? – Is there anywhere we can get a meal? I'm starving!"

Sodred and I looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously.

* * *

Colm's company was stationed nearby, so I led the way to their fire with relative ease. Elise looked a bit uncomfortable eating with a bunch of male strangers, but since I had assured her they were friends, she sat down next to me with a purposely bland expression on her face. She was much better than I at hiding my emotions when she wished to (not that this happened very often; she usually just let them right out like she had when schooling that Captain). As we ate, the group gossiped—not that the soldiers would ever have called it that, but Elise and I knew better.

"Isengard was amazing," Almon commented through a mouthful of stew. (Once again, the meat in it was of dubious origins; I think it was some animal that lives in the mountains—squorr, no, squirrel? The others had watched Elise warily when she had taken her first mouthful, but after she had scraped her bowl clean and asked for more, they had stopped worrying; I had promised them that she was even less of a picky eater than I, but I guess some things you just have to see for yourself to believe.) "The whole area around the causeway was underwater, and the Ents…!"

"I know!" another muttered. "Bloody trees, walking and talking and getting all chummy with Mithr—sorry, Gandalf the White, and the—what were they called?"

"The halflings?"

"Yeah, those. There's one still in camp, by the way."

"Here?" Elise and I chorused.

"Yeah. He's been taken into the king's service." All the others put on appropriately envious looks at this news. For King's Riders, they sometimes had a silly sense of humor. Other soldiers I would not have eaten with, but for some reason I trusted this crew implicitly. Maybe it was because I knew that if anything happened they would all defend me to the quick.

"Where did the other halfling go?" Elise asked curiously.

"The White Wizard took him to Mundburg," Hunwald supplied.* "There was a bit of a row between them, if I recall; I'm not quite sure what happened, though. But the halflings themselves—they look like ten-year-old boys, but they're as old as me, miss. It's just mindboggling…" I _would_ have said it was frankly unbelievable, but after the last few days—finding an underground shelter on the open plains; meeting a wizard, elf, dwarf, and the rightful king of Gondor; crafting a peace with my people's age-old enemies—I think I had ran out of doubt. So I merely nodded at this and tried to take it in stride. Elise, on the other hand, was absolutely thrilled that everything she had ever read about and more was coming to life before her very eyes. I knew that if she could, she would be on her way to Isengard to meet the Ents this very minute.

The conversation turned to those the soldiers would be leaving behind. Most of the men just had 'sweethearts,' some more genuine than others. But Colm admitted, "I'm loathe to go, Miss, because my wife and I just had a babe. He's a strapping lad for one so young."

"How old?"

"Just four months."

"Does he look like you?"

Colm grinned. "I say he looks like Everill, but she says he looks like me. He's got the fairest hair—so blonde it's almost white—but he's got my wife's hazel eyes for sure."

"Anyone you got, Sorensson?" Almon asked cheerfully.

Sodred looked up from the card game that had started. "Indeed I do, but I'm not telling anything more; if I do, I'm sure you'll all be at her doorstep with flowers and presents by tomorrow's morn." The men chuckled and cuffed him on the shoulder companionably.

Since they seemed to be going round the circle, Elise and I were next in line. "We know why you're here, Miss Saffi, but what about you, ma'am?" All eyes fell on Elise. "Is there anyone you'll be missing?"

She shook her head promptly and drawled, "I'm just here for moral support."

As the others guffawed over this and then moved on to teasing each other about their own loved ones, I leaned over to Elise and asked, "So why were you and Captain Éothain talking?"

She looked embarrassed. "I came down to the camp, but I didn't realize I had no idea where your tent was until I got myself thoroughly lost. The captain was nearby and since he was the only person I knew, I had to ask him for directions."

"Then why did he accompany you, and why were you two arguing?"

Two patches of angry redness appeared on her cheeks. "Never you mind it," she muttered, and before I could press her further, Colm interrupted with a question about my father's horses and breeding techniques. It was a fairly obvious question—I was surprised he didn't know the answer himself—but I responded the best I could, and Elise's earlier comment escaped my mind entirely.

At last dinner came to an end as dusk faded to black. Sodred looked brighter than he had for hours—not since he and Anwyn had made their goodbyes. Anwyn had not cried, though her eyes had glittered all morning; instead she had kissed Sodred as if the world depended on it. I wondered what it would be like to kiss Théodred that way (or be kissed) and promptly tried to squash such thoughts before my flaming cheeks gave me away. But dinner, it seemed, had returned Sodred some of his usual good spirits by reminding him that he wasn't the only one going through the pains of separation.

"They weren't so bad, eh?" I teased him as we returned to our tents.

"You were right, as usual," he said smilingly and then hugged me goodnight. I was touched (he hadn't hugged me goodnight since we were much younger) and rumpled his hair in return, much to his consternation. "They're actually quite nice."

"Those are the fellows who adopted me after Isen."

He gave me a sharp glance. "One of these days you're going to tell me everything that happened there."

I shrugged. "I already told you most of it."

"But not the parts that everybody else tells—about your bravery and heroism."

I rolled my eyes. "I did nothing that Colm or Almon or any of the others wouldn't have done in my stead."

Sodred sighed and hugged me again. "Sweet dreams, Saffi."

"You, too, silly boy."

* * *

Elise had apparently not been able to find a tent kit of her own, so instead we shared mine. She had already slid into her bed roll (she liked going to sleep early whenever possible), and I was getting ready to do the same when I heard footsteps approaching. I didn't really pay much attention until they stopped outside the tent flap. Confused, I got up and stuck my head out cautiously.

There was Théodred looking a bit bashful. I was even more confused: he was always smooth and confident and in control.

"Yes?"

He shifted from one foot to another. "I just … I came by to … to say goodnight."

I stared at him. "Really?"

He looked even more embarrassed but somehow managed to smile at my own silliness at the same time. "Saffi, would I be standing outside your tent in the dark if I didn't?"

"Oh." I tried to keep myself from blushing, failed, and prayed the growing darkness would keep Théodred from seeing.

"Well… good night."

"Er… good night to you, too."

There was a long awkward pause.

"I guess I'd better be going," he said at last and turned to go.

Oh, no. The last time he'd gone without me saying something, things between us hadn't gone well at all. At least not until that letter, and I still wasn't sure exactly what kindly spirit had compelled him to send it.

"Théo, wait." He stopped and faced me again. I reached for him compulsively, for suddenly I was trembling and fearful, and I needed the comfort that only his touch could give me. He stepped closer, enveloping both my hands with his (which was a bit of an awkward position because of my still-splinted right arm; not that this stopped either of us). "I wish you the most pleasant of dreams," I said quietly, smiling up at him. "And the best of nights."

"It will not be the best of all possible nights." His eyes bore into mine. "But it will be wonderful enough, and for that I thank thee." Then he leaned down and kissed my brow.

I watched him go long after his form had disappeared among the rows of the campground. Just as I turned at last to go back inside, I saw a bit of movement coming from the entrance to my brother's tent. I waited for more, but there was nothing at all.

* * *

*As you probably know, Mundburg is what the Eorlingas call Minas Tirith.


	19. A Time for War

Disclaimer: I own all my OCs, my plot changes, Alricsloft, and various characters' personalities (i.e. Théodred, Grimbold, and some other people who don't appear much). Yes, the Grand Master himself is probably rolling in his grave as I write this, but for the moment I'll pretend that the above statement isn't infringing on J.R.R.T.'s intellectual property.

**Note:** For this chapter, as the last, I've fudged with the canonical timing of things; in Tolkien, Théoden's muster starts up when the Red Arrow arrives, and he departs the very next day because of the darkness. Here, since I've changed the timing of Helm's Deep and of muster and travel times, the king will depart right after the Red Arrow arrives, so the darkness has not yet fallen across the skies... The Red Arrow is the symbolic request for (military) aid from Rohan for Gondor; this was arranged after Cirion gave the Riddermark to Eorl and he in return swore the oath to always answer the Arrow. Cheers!

* * *

Four days had passed by, four nights swimming into oblivion. To this day I'd be hard-pressed to describe much of what actually happened. Oh, we did things—Éowyn, Elise, and I went swimming (briefly—the water was freezing); reviewed the battlements; organized extra supplies for the fortress, the Hornburg, and the Riders themselves; practiced weaponry (to the utter bemusement of nearby Riders)—but everything felt a bit blurred and surreal. Every time an unfamiliar man rode up, my heart did a fearful flip, waiting for the messenger, waiting for the Red Arrow to arrive. Of course, this happened a lot, what with men still trickling in from all over the Mark and various messengers going to and from the Hornburg, so I never could fully concentrate on any one activity. I would have been more embarrassed for such blatant inattention to the tasks at hand if Éowyn hadn't reacted exactly the same way. Even up on the battlements of Dunharrow itself, Anwyn and the others were edgy, always glancing down at the valley. (Granted, Anwyn didn't do much_ looking_ when she and Sodred were together...) But Elise was the only one of our group who refused to look up whenever a newcomer arrived.

I rarely got to spend any time alone with Théodred. And though I was only a short walk away from his tent, sometimes I felt even farther from him than I had when I was back in Alricsloft. I had taken up but a small part of Éowyn's workload of running the fortress—she needed all the help she could get—and for the first time I glimpsed just what it meant to be a prince or princess. It was hard, grueling work. No wonder Théodred had never bothered to get married, I thought wryly. He simply hadn't had the time to raise a family, not to mention having Wormtongue whispering into his father's ear for the last umpteen years. As Éowyn and I pored through supply lists and sorted through refugee complaints, I felt for the first time highly unworthy of any connection to the royal family. I was just a simple village girl. Who was I to fall in love with the crown prince? Many girls all over the Mark were probably in love with him (or at least thought they were). And there was no way I was worthy of being any more lucky than they.

I pushed such thoughts aside with difficulty and shot a weary grin at Éowyn, who was looking increasingly frazzled. Already we'd had three different groups from various villages come complain to us in person about space, food, and each other. Éowyn's face was drawn, a clear sign that she was about to snap. Sharpening my voice into that fine cutting edge Elise had used on Captain Éothain, I called out to the bickering villagers hastily, "Excuse me, good people. Your attention, please." They caught the look on my face and fell silent. I let my tone soften a bit. "I know you wish to air your grievances. But her Highness cannot understand them if you all talk at once. If you each take a turn in speaking, we will be able to address your problems."

They did so rather sheepishly. After Éowyn and I rearranged the layout of their quarters and explained that everyone was eating the same food (even the king himself), we finally managed to escape the villagers' clutches, beating a fast retreat to our mounts and riding down to the campsite as fast as we dared.

* * *

It was a beautiful day. The air was—not very warm, per se, but softer, a promise of things to come—and the grass was starting to actually turn green down in the valley below. Éowyn had somehow finagled a small basket-full of food, and I grabbed a blanket and spread it out on the grass near the riverbank. Elise wandered off to the riverbank to get a flask of water. While I set up the picnic area to my satisfaction, Éowyn slipped off as well; she wanted her brother and cousin to dine with us.

I lay back on the grass and stared up at the sky through the canopy of limbs and budding leaves of the trees around me. It was very relaxing; the ground by the river was relatively soft, and with the blanket spread beneath me, it was all too easy to think myself snuggled up in a sleeping bag on a trip—like when Sodred and I were younger and we sometimes snuck out at night to look at the stars. I yawned and closed my eyes, remembering… I hadn't been able to fall asleep the night before until very late, and now I wanted nothing more than to curl up right here on the soft blanket under the dappled sunlight that shifted about in the breeze with the waving branches, so soft and cool and comfortable…

Actually, too cool. I sat up and chafed my hands together to warm them up some. Where was Elise? Surely it didn't take _that_ long to fill a pouch of water. I went down the bank in the direction she had taken. Yup, I was going in the right direction; that was definitely Elise's voice floating towards me through the trees. I peered round a bush. There was Elise, skirt-tails tucked up in her sash and water knee deep, standing casually in a side pool. She seemed completely oblivious to the cold water, for she was clearly engrossed in the conversation she was holding with … Éothain?

From the looks of things, they were arguing again. I sighed. Four days' worth of acquaintance and already they were quarreling like old friends. I would have said Éothain liked Elise if it weren't for the fact that he only ever sought her out to argue some more. If I didn't know better, I would have said they _enjoyed_ arguing with each other; however, their conversations got so heated that I couldn't understand either of the pair's motivation. On the plus side, they hadn't yet tried to kill each other, so I supposed there was still hope.

Elise said something laughingly to Éothain, and he excused himself with a bow and something that I would have said was a smile coming from anyone else. Odd, that. He hailed me pleasantly enough, and I did my best to reply politely. I waited for his form to disappear beyond the trees before turning back to Elise.

"Are you alright?" Her cheeks were flushed for some reason. "Are you getting too hot?" I demanded. She was wearing far too many layers with that dratted dress on anyway.

"I'm fine, Saffi," she laughed and clambered up to the riverbank barefooted. "Let's go eat some lunch."

* * *

I have always wondered how things can go downhill so quickly. A whole lifetime's work can be ruined in a few moments—the wrong words, a rapid glance, a swift noise... Sometimes the smallest of problems can push something over the edge, like the proverbial twig that broke the donkey's back—and then everything rushes out like a river, and we are swept away, glancing back in vain to try and see the fountain, to catch a glimpse of where it all started and when it all changed.

Looking back now, I should have known it wouldn't last, that the idyllic promise of a picnic lunch was too good to be true—at least then, when the world seemed to be falling to pieces all around us. For somehow the mood changed, the latch flipped, and the easy joy disappeared. It was when Elise slipped on the grass and scraped her knee on a tree's protruding root. As I helped her back to her feet and she protested that she was perfectly fine, my senses abruptly went on hyper-alert mode. I paused and looked around warily. Through the still-bare trees I could see the campsite. Everything looked just as before—smoke from the fires drifting lazily upward, men exercising horses or practicing their feats of arms—but I still felt uneasy. It was as though Elise's stumble had changed something inside of me, had changed the very way I was thinking about things. What on Arda was wrong?

And then Éowyn's stricken face appeared as she dashed toward us. Elise stopped dead, frozen into place.

"The Red Arrow," Éowyn blurted and then fell silent. There was no need to say any more.

"How long until they leave?" Elise murmured at last.

"One hour, that's what Uncle said, one hour and they will be…" Éowyn stopped herself and drew a ragged breath. Her mind was racing. Then suddenly her eyes refocused, grim and determined. Dread was welling up inside me like a flash-flood. _Oh, no. Oh, NO. What was she going to do? _"And I will be riding with them."

Elise's eyebrows shot upward. "The king has decreed this?"

Éowyn shook her head with the tiniest of movements as if she were brushing off a miniscule speck of dust. "It matters not. What I need to know is, will you go with me? Will you accompany me to Mundburg and beyond?"

I stared at her blankly. Suddenly it felt as though I were standing on the edge of a cliff. One step forward, and I would fall…

"We could fight! Nay, I _shall_ fight; I am a Shieldmaiden of the Mark. I can hold my own in battle. I will ride out and fight for my own as a true princess of the Eorlingas…" Éowyn's eyes glittered strangely. She looked more beautiful than before, and yet more terrible. As she stood before us, tall and proud, straight as an arrow, I knew that she would not be moved from her course. And in the pregnant pause that followed, I heard her unspoken wish—_I cannot be left behind again…_

How terrible it must be, to watch one's loved ones leave again and again. And each time, less came back. To Éowyn, her station was not a gift, but a curse. She was the Princess of the Riddermark, charged to stay behind while the men-folk rode forth to heroics but too often to their deaths as well. Hers was the last defense, the last recourse when all hope had faded.

She shook her head with the same graceful, impatient move as before and said again, "Ride with me…"

And now the choice, both roads fraught with peril. I looked at her face, so recklessly defiant in her desperation.

"What of your people?"

She looked confused. "What?"

"The refugees, Éowyn," I went on. "All who depend, and have depended, on you to see them through the darkness. Who will defend the country with you gone?"

"The war in the North is over," she said dismissively. "And for all that I have done, I am still _just_ a woman to them—to my Uncle, to my cousin, even to my brother(!). After all I did, and now they wish to lock me up here, to keep me safe and innocent—as if _that_ hadn't died along with my parents. Oh, it is a cage of riches, a gilded, golden cage, but a cage all the same…" She trailed off dangerously.

"And what of duty?"

"Duty? My duty always has been to protect my Uncle from the darkness that has surrounded us and permeated our lives for so long! And now, in the hour of greatest need, he tells me to hide! To turn and shelter, to run away! As if I were not strong enough to face the danger just as I have _all my life_! Duty… what I know of duty is that I must follow it even it means disobeying the wishes of those you love… Théodred was ordered, _begged_, to stay behind in Edoras. Instead he rode west, to your village, to do his duty to the country! Why should I not do the same?"

Elise's voice came then, strong and steady: "Because it does not matter if a battle is won if there is nothing to come home to. ... Perhaps we have misunderstood our lot as women—for there is nothing harder, nothing that requires such strength in the face of adversity, as does homemaking."

Éowyn snorted. "Ah, you speak of the famed 'woman's touch'! What mockery of all that our sex is capable of… My friends, I shall ride today with or without you." I saw then the deep-seated sorrow and despair in her eyes. "There is nothing left for me here." With that she turned and strode away. Elise and I looked at each other helplessly.

"She'll get herself killed in this mood…" I whispered. _Horse Lords, am I really about to do what I think I am?_ "I'm going with her."

"What about the refugees?" Elise countered. "Dunharrow needs a leader, if only so that we do not feel forgotten and abandoned."

"Tell you what," I decided, "I'll get Éowyn to sign over an order delegating the leadership for Dunharrow, alright?"

"To whom?" She gave me that familiar look that said, _You'd better choose bloody well…_

I shrugged. "I have no idea; I'll let the princess take care of that one." Elise let out a shaky laugh, and I set off at a run after Éowyn.

* * *

The princess was not in her tent when I got there. I turned round to leave when Théodred appeared in the doorway.

"Saffi?" he gasped out. "Where's Éowyn? I thought she was with you?" He took a step towards me tentatively, then another.

I shook my head. "No… I actually have no idea where she is." My mind whirled. Ought I tell him of his cousin's plans? He was very near me now, so close I could almost touch him. I opened my mouth to say something—to this day I know not what—but it didn't matter, because he cut me off swiftly.

He kissed me. _Kissed_ me, not gently or warmly, but dark and demanding, as though he were searching my very soul.

He thought that he was leaving me, that we might never see each other again. And Béma, it was wrong, but I wished this had happened sooner, never mind all that had caused it. Because it was _wonderful_. I slid my arms round his neck, clinging to him and deepening the kiss as best I could. I never wanted to let go. I didn't think I _could_ let go. His warmth filled me up, and I felt as golden and buoyant as the sun itself, keen and burning in its fiery beauty.

Voices outside the tent—I dimly registered someone calling out Théodred's name; it didn't matter. Nothing at all mattered except us and his mouth kissing mine. But then he pulled out of the kiss, leaving me empty and forlorn. I stared up at him, my thoughts jumbled and scattered, trying to remember something outside the world of him and his kiss...

"Oh, Saffi," he whispered. "My darling—if only…"

Tears were welling up in my eyes for some reason. "Théo, I—"

"THÉODRED! Where ARE you?" someone bellowed. It sounded like … like the king. I swallowed hard; he did not sound pleased.

"I must go, dearest," Théodred murmured. He kissed me swiftly and then hurried out of the tent.

I stood stock still for a long moment, frozen in place as the sounds of men readying for war gradually registered in my mind. As I gingerly touched my lips, savoring his taste, thoughts began trickling back—Were those men taking down tents? Why were others shouting for their horses? And… and _Éowyn_, I realized guiltily. Well, at least I was already in her tent; as quickly as I could, I gathered two days' worth of clothing. Nothing else appeared to be of service, so I held the bundle carefully and slipped out.

In the mass confusion and chaos that entails the breaking of an encampment, no one paid any attention to a small girl carrying a small bundle in her arms. I made it all the way back to my tent without being waylaid even once. As soon I was inside, I pulled out my pack and stuffed Éowyn's clothing in along with my own. Then I ripped the splint off. My right arm was a bit weak after over a week of no exercise, but it seemed to be healing nicely. I flexed it experimentally. It really needed another five days at least to heal properly, but I didn't have the time. The current state would have to serve. I donned my daggers and the chain-mail shirt that I had, er, 'borrowed' from one of the supply closets up in Dunharrow. Over that I pulled on a simple tunic, the same color as most of the Riders'. Now I was ready. Hopefully. Then, with all my supplies in tow, I headed off to the horse pasture. Éowyn needed a mount, I figured. She had to be around _somewhere_. Right?

* * *

The grazing area was full of organized chaos. Men were saddling their horses left and right, shouting to each other and running around to add more supplies. I wandered around the periphery blindly, trying to somehow catch sight of her. I could not fail in my task.

There was Théoden King himself, standing beside his great white horse. He was talking to… I blinked and looked again. No, my eyes did not deceive me. He looked to be a child, his head a mop of curly hair and his feet completely bare, but he was clothed in the garb of the King's Guard. So this was the halfling the others had spoken of. I edged closer. Maybe Éowyn was nearby.

The halfling was speaking in a trembling voice. "But, but, lord, I offered you my sword. I do not want to be parted from you like this, Théoden King. And as all my friends have gone to battle, I should be ashamed to stay behind."

"But we ride on horses tall and swift," said the king not unkindly; "and great though your heart be, you cannot ride on such beasts."

"Then tie me on to the back of one, or let me hang on a stirrup, or something," the halfling retorted desperately. "It is a long way to run; but run I shall, if I cannot ride, even if I wear my feet off and arrive weeks too late." I couldn't help but like him. His devotion to our king was touching, and I understood all too well the lure of riding out with those one loved.

Théoden King smiled. "Rather than that I would bear you with me on Snowmane. But I received you for your safe-keeping, and also to do as I might bid. None of my Riders can bear you as burden. If the battle were before my gates, maybe your deeds would be remembered by the minstrels; but it is a hundred leagues and two to Mundburg where Denethor is lord. I will say no more."*

The halfling bowed and stepped away unhappily, watching the Riders preparing to start. Then a young warrior slipped beside him and whispered something in his ear. I watched in amazement. The man was awfully slim, and he seemed familiar… They turned, and I caught a glimpse of familiar grey eyes. _OH…_

But now the warrior's figure—Éowyn's figure—was already retreating behind masses of men saddling and mounting their horses, though the halfling's unruly curls were admittedly hard to miss. I dashed after them.

But where…? I lost sight of the pair several times, and I now had no idea whether the glimpses of brown curls had actually been the halfling or just some random Eorling. I paused and looked around. There! I wove between various men until I'd reached the pair. The halfling was now wearing mail and a helmet, and Éowyn had perched him on her horse. She, too, was fully suited up. She was about to mount up behind him when I grabbed her arm.

"Who—what?" She looked panicked; she must have thought I was a warrior who had recognized her. Then she realized who I was. _"Saffi?"_

"I'm coming with you. You need someone to watch your back. But you MUST sign someone over to run Dunharrow so our people don't feel abandoned."

She gave me such a long look that I wasn't sure whether my words had actually registered. "Shall I tell the others your name?" I asked a bit meanly.

That snapped her out of it. "Fine. But I'll need parchment and a quill."

I dug around in my pack. Yes, I had never taken out either. As she hastily scribbled something official-sounding, I looked up at the halfling curiously. He smiled openly despite his apparent nervousness.

"By the way, who are we leaving in charge?" Éowyn asked, still scribbling in Westron.

I scowled at her. "_You're_ the royal, not me. I'll leave that decision to you."

She frowned thoughtfully. "We've already got a military defense in place, so what we need is someone who can handle the other aspect—the refugees themselves." She paused, considering this. "Aha! I've got just the person. Elise! She's fair, she understands their plight, and she's got tact. What do you say?"

"Sounds good." I would never of thought of my friend—simply because I had assumed Éowyn would pick someone older—but now that I thought about it, I could see this working. Poor Elise was in for a bit of a surprise tomorrow, I thought guiltily. "Éowyn—but what should I call you?" Then I winced; the halfling's eyes had widened considerably. He clearly hadn't known who the mysterious warrior was until now.

She glared at me. "From now on, I'm Dernhelm from Eastfold, okay? – Here, it's all done. Take it to…" She straightened and peered round. "See that man over there with the dark hair? – That's Wilfrid; he's the Captain of Dunharrow's Éored. Give this to him. He'll know it's from me by the seal. Better yet, get someone else to do it for you."

I ran off to find someone, anyone, to deliver the missive. Trying to avoid one warrior, I barreled into the back of another. He turned round and—"Sodred?" I gasped out.

"Saffi," he said, looking scared and excited and guilty for feeling that way all at once. "I can't believe this is actually happening." He looked very grand and imposing in his armor.

"I know…" _I REALLY can't believe that I'm about to ride to Mundburg and leave Elise in charge of an entire refugee camp…_

"Oh, Elise was looking for you," Sodred commented abruptly, making me wonder if my brother had suddenly gained the power to read others' minds.

"Where is she now?"

"Right over—there." He pointed. "Do you see?"

I nodded. Elise was standing patiently on the edge of the assembly feeding a horse. Wait, that horse was Mai! "Thanks so much, Sodred!" I impulsively pressed a kiss to his cheek. And then I was off.

* * *

Elise saw me before I reached her. Mai was already saddled, and Elise was also holding a helmet. When I ran up, a bit breathless (more from the stress than from the run), she handed it to me without ado. "Your hair's already up, so you're good there. Try this on. Hopefully it'll fit."

It was hot and heavy, but Elise said that it covered my face some, so hopefully it would be harder to recognize me. She also handed me a riding cloak that looked suspiciously like those of the Riders. (I would have asked how she got it, but I had a feeling I wouldn't like the answer.) In turn, I handed over the roll of parchment.

"You know what?" Elise said as I tried to adjust the helmet so that it felt more comfortable—or at least until I got used to it. "I won't give this to Captain Wilfrid. I'll leave it in his sleeping quarters. That way he won't see it until tomorrow morning; by the time anyone figure's out she's run off with the army, it will be too late to do anything about it."

I considered this. "I like it. – Elise, Éowyn signed over leadership to…"

"Well?"

I gulped and tried again. "To you."

She stared, shook her head and tried again. "_Me?_"

I nodded. "She thinks you're the best choice for the job, and I agree."

Elise shook her head slowly. "Saffi, I…"

"Don't! You're good at this stuff. People listened to your ideas, and you managed to make them feel important even when they had the stupidest complaints."

She rolled her eyes at this. "Just because I looked like I was paying attention doesn't mean I actually _was_."

"Doesn't matter," I retorted promptly. "You can do this; I know you can. Otherwise I would have told Éowyn to find someone else."

"You really think so?"

"I know so."

My best friend and I stared at each other for a long moment. Then she hugged me tightly. "Be careful, Saffi."

"You, too." I grinned at her. "You'll be great."

She smiled weakly. "Thanks. Now go kick some orc ass, okay?"

"Just for you," I promised.

When I reached Éowyn—I mean Dernhelm—she had already mounted her own horse. She sat right behind the halfling, who looked a bit scared but determined. Once the packs (which I had somehow stuffed into the saddlebags) containing the supplies were all accounted for, I checked that I was wearing the cloak properly, patted for all my daggers, put on the dratted helmet, and swung back onto Mai. I was ready for battle.

I hoped.

Then Théoden King gave a signal to his Marshals, who signed to their Captains, who signed at us… And we Riders somehow moved elegantly into formation, even Éowyn and I. The halfling sat in front of her half-hidden in the folds of her cloak. I clutched at my daggers nervously and couldn't keep myself from glancing over to where Elise stood far away. Our eyes locked. She nodded to me solemnly.

I took a deep breath and gathered all my courage. I had made my choice now. There was no turning back. I could do this; I _would_ do this. I looked over at Éowyn. She was pale as death. The halfling looked back and up at her face and clutched at her hand. The touch must have woken her, for some color returned to her cheeks.

In the hush unbroken by horses' movements (for all were still and waiting), the king's voice could be heard. "You know where we are headed and why. We shall battle not for ourselves alone, but for all living peoples, for all Arda! Forth Eorlingas!" He roared, hale and strong, and we roared back, letting our fear and nerves be manifested in this promise of death and destruction.

Then he wheeled round, and we rode.

* * *

*This conversation is lifted _nearly_ word-for-word from _Return of the King_ Book II/Part II Chapter 3: The Muster of Rohan. I combined two separate conversations into one.

I had fun writing this, so I hope you liked reading it. As always, tell me what you think: suspicions, hopes, criticism... anything. Well, maybe not flames :)


	20. Over a River and Through Some Woods

Disclaimer: If you think I own LOTR, you're wrong. For starters, I wouldn't be writing this fanfiction story when I had written the real thing... The stuff in italics is from ROTK Book/Part II Chapter 3: The Muster of Rohan. Again.

A/N: The book and various maps I've looked at have all been very inspecific about the location of Harrowdale, so I'm pretending it's in the mountains just east of Edoras. And I realized that Éowyn and Saffi wouldn't actually have slept in a tent, so that's been changed. Sorry about any resulting confusion :/ I'm not too sure on what kinds of food exactly the Eorlingas would eat, but I figured bread and meat, the die-hard staples of most Western societies, would suffice. And I don't know if they had apples, but apples are so awesome I can't imagine the Riddermark without them—though apples would probably be in southern Eastmark only, so they'd be a bit more rare but still available.

* * *

_Forth rode Théoden. Five nights and days_

_east and onward rode the Eorlingas_

_through Folde and Fenmarch and the Firienwood,_

_six thousand spears to Sunlending,_

_Mundburg the mighty under Mindolluin,_

_Sea-kings' city in the South-kingdom_

_foe-beleaguered, fire-encircled._

_Doom drove them on. Darkness took them,_

_horse and horseman; hoofbeats ajar_

_sank into silence: so the songs tell us._

* * *

An hour's ride north from Harrowdale, I realized that we had never actually eaten our picnic lunch. I wondered whether Elise had ever remembered the hamper and blanket or whether they still sat on the ground by the riverbank. How long would it sit there before someone ventured to the river? A week? A month? A wave of guilt washed over me at the thought of wasting such good food at a time of such need.

An hour after that, I stopped feeling guilty about wasting food that could have fed the refugees and just fumed inwardly about not feeding _myself_. Horse Lords, I was _hungry_. And word had spread down through the ranks that we were not stopping until nightfall at the earliest.

* * *

In the late afternoon we turned eastward and passed but half a league to the right of Edoras. It was an enormous city—the biggest I'd ever seen in my whole life—and spread all across the hilltop. In the very center, on a knoll that rose above the lesser buildings surrounding it, sat the great golden hall of Meduseld, the home of our liege-lord and his family, the home of the house of Eorl. Théodred's home. I wondered what it would be like to live there looking out upon the rolling green Wold, to spend all one's days in such a place where the past, present, and future generations of the Riddermark's great house all intertwined. In the sunlight, Meduseld's fair roof gleamed a brilliant gold so dazzling it seemed almost white, and it stood out vividly against the dark greens and blue-purples of the mountains all around.

Éowyn slowed her horse to a walk and moved directly next to me. "Beautiful, is it not?" I nodded wordlessly. Beautiful did not seem adequate to describe such a sight.

"What is that place?" a small voice breathed in Westron. I looked down; the halfling's curly head poked out of the thick folds of Éowyn's cloak.

"That city is Edoras… And the building up there is Meduseld, where the King sits—do you see it?—the one with the golden roof—"

"Is it truly gold? for it shimmers like it should be gold, or another jewel I have seen…"

"Truly, it is gold," I assured him with a grin. "And all the more lovely because it is so rare."

"Though not always so lovely _underneath_ that golden roof," Éowyn muttered darkly, and before either the halfling or I could reply, she kicked her mount into a rapid canter. "Already we have reached the back of the column. We must make haste, or be left behind!"

I urged Mai into a trot, and we soon fell back into place in the swift-moving procession.

* * *

Night had already spread her wings across all the Mark before the procession finally halted. We were twelve leagues from Edoras and a few leagues south of the meeting of the Entwash and Snowbourn rivers. As soon as the column stopped moving, I slid off Mai with trembling legs; it had been a long ride without breaks, especially wearying since I hadn't had much time to go riding since the snows had melted little more than a month ago.

Now, as Éowyn tended to her horse silently, I dug through my pack for what foodstuffs could be found. There was barely enough to last us the week out; I hoped the halfling's appetite was just as small as the rest of him. After I divided the food into daily portions, I belatedly turned to brush down Mai. She looked just as sweaty and hungry as the rest of us, poor thing. I knelt on the ground to go through the saddlebags; hopefully I had remembered to pack extra feed.

Nope.

"Éo—Dernhelm: do you have any feed for the horses? I've only got enough for a day and a half."

She grinned at me humorlessly. "I have three days' worth."

_Damn._ "It's about five days to Mundburg, right?"

"Seven." _Double damn._

"Well then…" I paced a small circle in concentration. "How about we feed them tonight, since it's late? They can probably graze after this until we reach Druedan Forest, right?"

She shrugged and stepped over to our sleeping space. (In the age-old tradition of the Riddermark, us Riders slept in our bedrolls under the open sky; tents were for the King and for the wounded.) After feeding Mai and Éowyn's mount, I followed her over. Éowyn had already curled up in a spot set well apart from the other Riders, sound asleep. Had she eaten at all today? And when was the last time she had slept? The dark circles under her eyes had never really gone away… Even now, in slumber, she didn't look to be resting; her mouth was drawn, and her face looked grim and troubled.

An oppressive silence seemed to have fallen over the camp as well; though we had just stopped only half an hour ago, I could not hear any of the usual sounds of men cooking or eating or talking or… or doing anything at all. I shivered and returned my attention to things closer at hand—like the halfling. He was sitting on the ground wrapped up in one of blankets I'd just unpacked and now seemed very small and vulnerable. Close up now I could see his face clearly. He was definitely older than me; he was just—shorter.

"Did she eat anything at all?" I asked in Westron.

"No, miss." He looked up at me. "Why are you and the princess here?"

I shrugged and sat down beside him. I was incredibly tired, but not tired enough to block out the incessant ache of hunger. "Same reason you are, I guess: to fight for our own." I got out the first parcel of food and carefully doled out two portions, one for me and one for the halfling. "I'm hungry, so I bet you are, too."

His eyes lit up at the sight of food. "I was wondering when you would ask! Thank you, my lady."

"Don't _'my lady'_ me," I replied. "My name is Saffi, and you are free to use it."

"Oh!" He swallowed down the mouthful of bread and meat hurriedly. "I'm Merry. Well, Meriadoc Brandybuck, but all my friends call me Merry. My best friend's called Pippin—well, his real name is Peregrin—but he uses a nickname, too. Though so does Sam. I guess the only one of us who doesn't have one is Frodo. But he's always been a bit different about that kind of stuff… – I wonder where he is right now, though. He and Sam. I hope..." He swallowed hard. "You know, just a year ago, if Pip and I were feeling adventurous we might spend the night in a tent in the field nearby to look at the stars when we wanted. And now here I am, off to a war! What Mum would say if she could see me now..." He flopped back and stared at the starry sky blankly. "She'd say, _Where's Pippin?_ …"

"My best friend is still at the refugee camp," I informed him quietly. "The princess left her in charge."

That jolted him. "Of a part, or...?"

"The entire camp." There was a bit of a stunned silence. I continued, "And I… I don't know, really, what I'm doing here either. But I can't change anything now. We've just got to do the best with what we've got."

"You're right there, miss—I mean Saffi. Thank you."

I had another slice of bread left, but suddenly I didn't feel much like eating. Instead Merry and I sat together in silence as the stars shone down distantly. Then…

"Pardon me, Miss Saffi, but—if you're not going to eat that…"

* * *

I woke early. Much too early, judging that it was still pitch black everywhere. I lay utterly still for a moment, and then I was wide awake. I rolled out of my bedroll uneasily without even glancing around. Why was I so wary? All my senses were on edge, a mixture of fear and anticipation. The last time I had felt so odd was right before—right before I had dueled Arnalit.

The last time I had felt this way, I had been preparing to fight to my death.

After I'd put on a fresh shirt and tunic (along with the mail shirt), I was ready to go explore. For whatever reason, I was tense, and the only solution was to work it off a bit. A walk would do nicely. Then I rethought and strapped on all my daggers as well. _Just in case._ Only then did I wander about.

It was still dark everywhere, almost unnaturally so. The horses were restless; they were awake and wary as well. Reflexively, I looked up at the sky to see how far the stars had turned.

There were no stars.

_Cloud cover_, I told myself frantically, _cloud cover, that's all it is. It's just a storm passing through, that's all._

_But storm clouds LOOK like clouds. Not like that… a solid mass of darkness somehow _deeper_ than black…_

I wandered through the camp warily, stepping carefully between Riders' sleeping forms. Ah, there was a sentry. No, two. That was odd. Why were they standing together?

"Good morn to you," I whispered. They nearly jumped out of their boots.

"Who—?"

"Just me. I'm … um, Éadgar." Éadgar Ælfredsson had died three summers ago at the age of five, poor boy, so I figured the name wouldn't lead to any awkward mix-ups.

"One of the new recruits here for the muster?" One man squinted at me. "You from Westfold?" I nodded. "You sound like it. How old are you?"

"Fourteen." There was no way I could try to be older when my cheeks were smooth and never would be otherwise. Not to mention that for an Eorling I was awfully short.

"This your first campaign?"

"Yes, sir."

The sentries exchanged looks that clearly said, _The poor lad. Fourteen and he's off to his death in a foreign land…_

"Where…where are the stars?"

The one who had spoken before shivered. "The darkness rolled in last shift, and it hasn't abaited since." He grimaced. "Came in from the east, it did…"

"The _East_?" I squeaked.

"There was not a breath of wind," the other man added. "Utterly still out—and yet it rolled in so fast, so swift…" He shook his head dourly. "Strange things are afoot."

"Yea: the sun will not rise this day," the first sentry noted bleakly. "It has gotten lighter during this watch, but I doubt the sun will break through any time soon. It will be whatever shade of morn we can get soon enough, young Éadgar. Go get yourself some breakfast. No doubt we shall be setting off before long."

"Thank you, good sirs," I said and bowed lightly before scampering off back to my packs. I had a feeling a long, hard day lay ahead.

* * *

Breakfast was spare (to Merry's dismay—he seemed to have a stomach even bigger than my brother's), and after I cajoled Éowyn into swallowing a few morsels of bread and meat, we were all ready to go. Mai was restless, just as nervous about going on (and riding straight toward the source of the darkness) as she was to stay put at the camp. I was glad I had Mai to ride; I was pretty sure that her devotion to me was the only reason she hadn't ran off already. In return I gave her a slice of apple. (I only had one, so I had cut it up into as many slices as possible to make it last longer.) Then I pulled on my helmet, helped Merry onto Mai, and climbed up behind him. I had agreed to take Merry at least half the journey, nominally to give Éowyn's mount a break but really to give her some time alone. The look on her face as she had pulled on her helmet this morning had spoken volumes.

* * *

The skies remained dark all day. The noontime lunch stop was even briefer than the king had commanded, for no one wanted to stop moving under such desolate skies. Riding, even toward the heart of the darkness, was infinitely better than standing still. Standing still meant one actually started _thinking_ about the darkness… As soon as I had swallowed down another slice of bread and cheese, I was back on Mai. I was just as bad a traveling companion as Éowyn, but Merry didn't seem to mind, for he turned to me immediately after eating, and since the ground was soft enough, Mai knelt obediently for him to climb up.

We entered Eastfold just after luncheon. The lands held more hills than plains, and I sometimes caught glimpses of villages up high. To our left, on the northern side, lay rolling pastures and farmland, but to our right rose hills and behind those the high peaks of mountains. Late in the day we passed by a hill clearly meant as a grazing ground; spread across it were white, fluffy animals. Their pelts looked … wooly.

"Are those sheep?" I asked curiously. Éowyn replied affirmatively curtly and left me to wonder at the sight on my own. Out in Westfold, we took to farming rather than herding livestock. I'd never seen sheep; we got our cloth (once in a while cotton, but usually wool) through the merchants that came to buy my father's horses. My father… I wondered suddenly where he was. He had came with us for the muster, I remembered now, and presumably he had been enlisted in one Éored or another; but I had never paid any attention to it, had never really thought about it until now. Ugh… I shook my head to banish such thoughts. Whenever I thought of him, I still felt a sharp pang deep in my breast—but not of anger any more—of betrayal and abandonment. And regret. …

"What are you thinking about, Saffi?" Merry asked abruptly. "You're all tense. I know the, the darkness is weird and…" He looked up at the sky and shivered. "But still, it's been that way all day, and you haven't been worried like this till now."

"I was just thinking about my family…"

"I miss my family, too," Merry said quietly, misunderstanding my silence (which was, admittedly, a good thing). "Especially my cousins—we're best friends, Pip and Frodo and me. At least we're going to Minas Tirith, where Pippin is. I hope he's doing okay…"

And I did my best to reassure the halfling as we galloped eastward under the blackened skies.

* * *

That night went much the same as before, except it came on much sooner than before due to the unnatural darkness above. I let Mai graze on what grasses were available and turned to see Éowyn brushing down her own horse woodenly. Her movements were oddly mechanical—not jerking or rough, but as though her arm and mind had been disconnected entirely and her hand now worked of its own volition. I went over to her hurriedly.

"Let me do it, Éowyn," I murmured softly.

"No. I must tend Windfola," she said blankly.

"You need to rest and eat, to keep your strength up," I chided. "Let me."

"No! I can do it on my own! I am old enough to tend my own mount, Saffi," she hissed suddenly, turning on me furiously. "Stop fussing over me!"

"Then take care of yourself as well as your horse!" I fumed back, my voice low but angry. Couldn't she see what she was doing to herself? "Please…"

She stared at me for a long moment. Then the mask fell back into place, and she nodded dumbly, handing me the brush before walking over to our sleeping area. And I was left wondering whether she had actually heard anything I'd said.

* * *

Morn was not morn with such darkness overhead, not truly. As we rode again, a progress silent except for the jingling of harness and the pounding of hooves, Merry munched on a piece of bread quietly. He had opted to ride with me in the morning and Éowyn in the afternoon, a decision he had come to after we'd heard we would be passing Aldburg after noontide; Aldburg was the traditional base of whichever Marshal chose to defend Eastfold, and it had also been Éowyn's childhood home.

"Merry, where'd you get that extra bread from?"

He grinned a bit guiltily. "The princ—I mean Dernhelm. Dernhelm gave it to me. S—He said he was already full."

I could not bear to tell him that I'd only given Éowyn the one piece and no more.

* * *

At luncheon I wandered in small circles restlessly. I couldn't bear to stand still and do nothing. I noticed that although the other soldiers noticed Merry—his height made him hard to ignore—they studiously ignored him, acting as though he were a sack or an extra saddlebag that just happened to be able to walk. And eat. (It seemed the halfling was always hungry.) I wondered whether the others had gotten orders to ignore Merry's presence or whether it was simply a conscious choice on their part. Either way, it was convenient for Éowyn and I, as it meant no one looked at us twice even when riding with the halfling.

Then we remounted, Merry now with Éowyn, and we set off again.

* * *

Aldburg was much smaller than Edoras but still bigger than any other village I'd seen. The large house, the home of the Marshal, was on the north side, closest to where we passed. It looked snug and comfortable, big enough to house many Riders as well as the Marshal's family while staying small enough to still feel like a home. As Third Marshal currently (vaguely) assigned to Eastfold, it was Éomer's right to make the house his place of residence; according to Théodred, though, he chose to stay in Edoras with his cousin and sister. It must be odd to be master of the house one's parents had lived and died in—but no stranger than it must be for Théodred to live in Meduseld knowing how many ancestors had spent their entire lives there. As we passed, Éowyn's face grew even paler, if that were possible, and Merry squeezed her hand kindly in response. For the first time all day, she seemed to realize her surroundings and smiled down on the halfling sitting in front of her. Then Aldburg was behind us. Éowyn peered ahead, and her face returned to its hard set. Merry looked at me, and I shrugged helplessly. There was little more either of us could do for the time being.

* * *

That night I tried to draw Éowyn into even a modicum of conversation. The attempt failed. Miserably. She stayed withdrawn in the shell she had built around her emotions, and I had no idea how to get through to her. The closer we got to the battle, the more her hope and bright spirit seemed to fade. And neither Merry nor I knew how to help.

* * *

The next day was even more gloomy than the last, as the darkness, instead of abating, continued to spread and deepen. And as we rode rumor came of war in the North. Lone men, riding wild, brought word of foes assailing our east-borders, of orc-hosts marching in Wold. The messengers were haggard and worn, their horses sweaty and wearing the strain of a long, hard gallop. Often their clothes were torn; one Rider, from the far north, had familiar black stains on his. Many slowed their steps, uncertain whether we ought to still continue forward or turn back to defend our own lands. Then a familiar voice carried out across the procession. "Ride on! Ride on!" It was Éomer. He had risen in his stirrups, and standing up now bellowed so as to be heard by all the companies. "Too late now to turn aside. The fens of Entwash must guard our flank. Haste now we need. Ride on!" I caught a glimpse of Théodred's face, care-worn and stern. He looked grateful enough that it was Éomer denying aid and not he.*

How I loved him. I wished to ride up and assure him that he was making the right choice, that the northern and eastern borders didn't matter if the Dark Lord won in Mundburg, that sometimes the right path was the hardest. But I couldn't, and that hurt.

* * *

We reached Druadan Forest late that afternoon after crossing Mering Stream into Gondorian lands. It hadn't been nearly as wide as the Fords, but the waters were swift and bitter cold as they rushed north to pour into the Anduin. After we'd crossed, the column had all paused to dry off our mounts' legs so they wouldn't catch cold.

It had been a long, weary ride, and the faces of the riders from the north were hard to look at. Even though I knew we were off to fulfill a sacred oath, I felt guilty about abandoning those in the Wold to the invading monsters. The skies grew ever darker, the roiling blackness that was neither cloud nor air seething down at us. The trees were dark, too, and foreboding; the forest was dead silent—which, judging from the wary looks on the others' faces, was not the proper state for any forest. I had no experience with forests, but even I could tell things here were off-kilter. It felt as though there was no animal life at all under the silent trees, and combined with the threatening dark overhead, the journey was indeed a hard one. But perhaps the worst part was that every so often strange sounds drifted down from the tree-covered hills all around—as though someone was beating a drum, and then someone else was beating another in answer. At last I could hold out no longer.

I edged Mai toward another Rider, one of the sentries I had met a few mornings ago. He recognized me with a low "Well met, young Éadgar."

"Do…do people _live_ here?" I couldn't understand why someone would stay in a forest, full of trees and such that blocked out the very sky. The plains were my home, where one got an unblemished view of the great heavens all above, stretching on in all directions endlessly.

"Not exactly," came the cryptic reply. "At least, no Eorlingas live here." He grinned. "As you can see, the forest isn't exactly conducive to horses."

"Then who does? – I mean, someone must be here to beat the drums… Those _are_ drumbeats, sir?"

He nodded dourly. "It's the Púkel-men."

"Like the statues at Dunharrow?"

"Very like. They still live here deep in the forests… they're probably talking about us right now on those drums of theirs."

"Truly?"

"That's how they communicate over long distances, with the drums." He noted my shiver—a chill had suddenly went down my spine—and chuckled darkly. "Don't worry, lad, they usually don't harm travelers."

After that but one thought kept circling about in my mind: _Only usually?_

* * *

But no Púkel-men (Drúedain in Sindarin, I remembered suddenly—which would make sense, given that the forest was named the Druedan) showed their forms. At last it was too dark to see where we were going anymore, so the Marshals reluctantly called it a day. Out on the plains, it was still lighter, so we still would have been traveling; here, however, the trees added their own shadows to the darkness surrounding us. I was glad to stop, and immediately after tending Mai and Windfola and forcing Éowyn to eat a bit more, I fell into my bedroll and a deep sleep punctuated by strange dreams from my childhood.

* * *

I woke early to hear the sounds of Merry and a man conversing in hushed tones. _That voice was familiar_, I thought blearily. I sat up quietly and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes.

"You hear the Wodes, the Wild Men of the Woods," the familiar voice continued. "They still haunt Druadan Forest, it is said. Remnants of an older time they be, living few and secretly, wild and wary as the beasts. They go not to war with Gondor or the Mark; but now they are troubled by the darkness and the coming of the orcs: they fear lest the Dark Years be returning, as seems likely enough." It was Captain Elfhelm. I stood up cautiously and dressed as silently as I knew how, listening all the while. I knew it was bad to eavesdrop, but I was tired of not knowing anything, of the helplessness that follows when one cannot make any decisions on one's own.

I stepped out just as the captain departed with the words, "Pack yourself up, Master Bag!" _Ah… so he, at least, has decided to let Merry's presence slide by… I wonder whether he knows about me and Éowyn. _I shook off such thoughts and joined Merry. He jumped high indeed when I laid my hand on his shoulder.

"Off somewhere?" I teased.

"No. – Well, maybe! But I just want to know what's happening for once!" Merry looked distressed and guilty and defiant all at once.

"Merry, I never said I didn't want to go with you…"

He grinned. "Then come on, Saffi!"*

* * *

We wandered warily in pursuit of some lantern Merry had seen disappear among the trees. Presently we came to an open space where a small tent had been set up for the king under a great tree. Above on a tree branch hung a large lantern, casting a pale circle of light below. And on the ground together sat Théoden King, Théodred, and Éomer with—

I stared wide-eyed, as did Merry.

Before them sat a strange squat shape of a man, gnarled as an old stone, and the hairs of his scanty beard straggled on his lumpy chin like dry moss. He was short-legged and fat-armed, thick and stumpy, and clad only with grass about his waist. He was one of the Drúadain, the Púkel-men.

As we crept nearer, he began to speak haltingly in the common speech, Westron.

"No, father of Horse-men," he said, "we fight not. Hunt only. Kill _gorgûn_ in woods, hate orc-folk. You hate _gorgûn_ too. We help as we can."

"But our need is for aid in battle," Théodred reminded grimly. "How will you and your folk help us?"

"Bring news," said the Wild Man. "We look out from hills. We climb big mountain and look down. Stone city is shut. Fire burns there outside; now inside too. You wish to come there? Then you must be quick. But _gorgûn_ and men out of far-away," he waved a short gnarled arm eastward, "sit on horse-road. Very far away, more than Horse-men."

"How do you know that?" asked Éomer.

The old man's flat face and dark eyes showed nothing, but his voice was sullen with displeasure, much like Arnalit's during our argument about Helm King. "Wild Men are wild, free, but not children," he answered. "I am great headman, Ghân-bury-Ghân. You have a score of scores counted ten times and five. They have more. Big fight, and who will win? And many more walk round walls of Stone-houses."

"Alas! he speaks all too shrewdly," said Théoden King. "And our scouts say that they have cast trenches and stakes across the road. We cannot sweep them away in sudden onset."

"And yet we need great haste," said Éomer. "Mundburg is on fire!" He might have gone on further, but Théodred laid a restraining hand on his arm in warning. Éomer sat back reluctantly.

"Let Ghân-buri-Ghân finish!" said the Wild Man. "More than one road he knows. He will lead you by road where no pits are, no _gorgûn_ walk, only Wild Men and beasts. Many paths were made when Stonehouse-folk were stronger. They went through Drúadan to Rimmon with great wains. Road is now forgotten, but not by wild men. Over hill and behind hill it lies still under grass and tree, there behind Rimmon and down to Dîn, and back at the end to Horse-men's road. Wild Men will show you that road. Then you will kill _gorgûn_ and drive away bad dark with bright iron, and Wild Men can go back to sleep in the wild woods."

Éomer, Théodred, and the king turned to each other and now spoke in our own tongue.

"Can we trust him?" were the first words out of Éomer's mouth. "He says they watch, eh? How do we know they haven't been spying on us as well?"

Théodred frowned at him. "We do not know. And yet we have no other choice! It is another two days down our road, and the scouts say a great host awaits us there as well! And it seems Mundburg needs all the help we can give as soon as possible. I am uneasy as well, I admit, but I do not think we have a choice in this matter."

"I am inclined to agree with my son," said the king. "What other recourse do we have?"

Éomer nodded slowly. "I know… I just—" He shook his head somberly. "I feel so _useless_ sometimes!" There was a long pause.

"Are we decided, then?" said the king in the tone of voice that said _he_ for one had already made up his mind. Théodred and Éomer voiced their agreement, and the three turned back to Ghân-buri-Ghân.

"We will receive your offer," Théoden King said. "For though we leave a host of foes behind, what matter? If the Stone-city falls, then we shall have no returning. If it is saved, then the orc-host itself will be cut off. If you are faithful, Ghân-buri-Ghân, then we will give you rich reward, and you shall have the friendship of the Mark forever." Even as he said this, I cringed at his tone, for though it was friendly, it also contained overtones of patronizing condescension. Was this how talks had gone between my people and the Dunlendings? –No wonder Arnalit had called us stuck-up and pretentious. Oh, I loved my king—he was my liege lord, and he had my faith until the end of time—but neither could I be willfully blind to his faults.

"Dead men are not friends to living men, and give then no gifts," the Wild Man was saying sharply. "But if you live after the Darkness, then leave Wild Men alone in the woods and do not hunt them like beasts any more. Ghân-buri-Ghân will not lead you into trap. He will go himself with father of Horse-men, and if he leads you wrong, you will kill him."

"So be it!" said Théoden.

"How long will it take to pass by the enemy and come back to the road?" asked Éomer. "We must go at foot-pace, if you guide us; and I doubt not the way is narrow."

The conversation went on, but I'd heard enough. Merry and I slipped away to get ready for the summons to the march.*

* * *

The halfling's face was drawn as the company set off. The going was tough; at many parts we had to journey single file, leading our mounts behind us. Some paths were slippery and partially overgrown with vegetation. Others were rocky, and we had to slow down lest a horse be maimed through our carelessness. The light grew more dim than ever as we drew nearer and nearer to Mundburg. There was no conversation; the Wild Men, the Drúadain, had urged us to be as silent as possible.

At last we reached the trough of the Stonewain Valley and passed to camping-places under the grey trees while the king and his captains gathered for council. After about an hour of assembly time, the captains returned and we were back on the move.

* * *

It was now nightfall, and still the procession crawled on. Our pace had increased, for now that we were no longer under the cover of the forest, we could ride our mounts down either side of the forest road. The wind had shifted, and there was a fresh breeze blowing. For some reason it brought me just a little piece of hope.

And then we reached the summit of a ridge, and there below—

The white city, the stone city, now foe-beleaguered and fire-encircled, Mundburg the mighty, seat of Gondor:

Minas Tirith.

I looked over at Merry and Éowyn. Merry looked nervous, if not downright scared. I shot him a wobbly smile, the best I could muster when my own insides were churning. This time was even worst in the last because I knew what to expect—and subsequently what to dread. And Éowyn...Hers was the face of one without hope who goes in search of death.**

I didn't want to do this. But I did, in a way; I wanted to fight, if only to get the experience over with. _Oh, Bema help me_, I pled. _Protect my friends and my brother and my love and my king…_

And then I heard a rush around me; on my right and left had ridden up the other Riders, halting in a long line on the long ridge. Before us now went Théoden King, with Théodred and Éomer on either side. They rode past our ranks solemnly, nodding to us their Riders.

It was time.

* * *

* (spoken stuff excepting conversation in Rohirric) and ** (single sentence) are stolen directly from ROTK Book/Part II Chapter 5: The Ride of the Rohirrim. This entire chapter was cut out of the movie for some inexplicable reason. All I have to say is, Shame On You, Peter Jackson...

So... tell me what you think- whether it's about my portrayal of Éomer, Éowyn, or even Merry! And btw, aren't hobbits the best? I'm so glad I finally got to bring one of them into the story :)

Warning: next update has (understandably) death. Lots. Prepare yourselves...


	21. Death on a Horse

Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all. Not even the computer on which I'm uploading this chapter.

* * *

There is panic, and then there is _panic_. One is the kind you feel when you were supposed to look after someone's child and now you've lost him or her—those five minutes where you search frantically everywhere until coming across the evil brat hiding under a table and laughing hysterically at your fear. The other, real panic, is much worse. It's the feeling that if you don't take care, you'll lose _yourself_.

I wasn't panicked then when we rode out. I mean, sure, I had no real idea what I was doing here. But at least this time I knew what to expect, so that was better, right?

Wrong. There is no real preparation for war, and even the most seasoned of warriors might someday be slain in even a brief skirmish. What did I have from the battle at the Fords of Isen? The nightmares that had kept me awake night after night for the past month—of the dying screams of orcs, horses, and men; of bodies piled up and piling still; of blood and sweat and anguish and horror and _death_.

Why in Béma's name had Éowyn wanted to come here?

I had thought it to be a vain quest for glory, to make herself useful as she defined it. But now, looking at her face, a mere shell of the person I had come to know and care for over the past few days, I felt that option could not be correct. I remembered the way the sentries had looked at me that dark morn; they were certain, they _knew_, that I was riding off to my death. Was this what she desired, then? To die? Poor Merry was clutching at her hand anxiously, but she gave no sign that she felt his touch, no sign to acknowledge his very existence. Her eyes held not even the barest flicker of hope. _She had come here in search of death.…_

Like hell was I going to let Éowyn get her wish.

And then as if to mirror my inward resolution, the king turned back to us, rising in his stirrups and bellowing out in a resounding voice:

_"Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!_

_Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!_

_spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,_

_a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!_

_Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!"_

He seized a great horn from his standard-bearer nearby and blew such a great blast that it burst asunder, and I could have sworn I felt the wind from it upon my face even where I sat. In response then all the horns in the host around me were raised as well, stormy and thunderous, echoing all around across the great plain.

_"Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!"_ the king cried again, and then he bellowed to his horse. Snowmane sprang away, and we thundered after him. Théodred and Éomer rode after, and the front of the first Éored flying fiercely, but Théoden King could not be overtaken. Fey he seemed, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, with his golden shield uncovered and shining like the Sun. And morning came, morning and a wind from the sea.

And then someone began to sing, a rich rolling song, fair and terrible, and the entire army took it up. I cannot explain it: for I could not tell you the words even today, or how I knew them then. The bloodlust rose rich and thick in my veins: the joy of battle, fearsome and intoxicating. There was a very brief moment of true panic – for I was losing myself in the song—it took me up and down on its rich verses to places so bright it hurt and so dark it burned—I was losing myself in the song, the song was all around me and through me and it_was me…_

And then

and then Mai reared and snorted and trampled and bones cracked and broke

white bones in odd clothing

curving swords glinting like stars

bones breaking, men screaming, battle cries cut off sharply when someone's spear slid straight through their

chests heaving and spears splintering on shields and swords

being drawn, swords, metal clashing on metal, the ring a sound of such breathtaking terror, of such frightening beauty

resounding out over all the plain

and I

I

I stabbed and rammed and what was that on my left side oh that

man grabbed my saddle and I

and I

I pull out the dagger faster than thought

instinct

_is this what i have become my instinct to kill not preserve who who am i_

_I am Death_

and the dagger slides oh

so

neatly

into his flesh, smooth like a hot knife through butter

and he sinks like a stone onto the plain already red from mens' blood

human blood

and I taste it on my lips as it

splatters up and

all around

_the last time i tasted blood it was my own the time before it was a monster's but who is the monster now_

and I fight and I kill and I kill and I fight

and

and

there are so many things I could say, I could tell, for I knew

everything

I saw and heard and smelled I noticed

everything

senses not on alert, oh, no, they took control long ago

and I am just a body to do their bidding

to slash and stab and spear and

kill

I am death

on a horse

riding victorious as men breathe and jerk and die

everywhere

and there is the king, looking more fey than human,

cleaving through the evil Men oh

so

neatly

_where is she my princess and where is the halfling i promised to protect them but who are _they

_who am i_

panic

panic

panic

oh, I would if I could, but there is no time because

the next wave is upon us and the company has been parted in two neatly

two halves of

one whole

_and she they my charges are NOT HERE NOT HERE where are they_

and we are surrounded suddenly by men and those

those monsters

orcs

rabid, hungry for us to die, hungry for our flesh

but Mai screams and rears proudly and then her hoofs

come down

upon

their skulls

and crunch they go

but more surge up and attack

and I lean down from the saddle to strike

and the spear cleaves through several

with a brief struggle to untangle it, during this they think they will sneak up on me and attack

but I am ready

I whip around with daggers flying toward their faces

and they will not attack anyone

ever

again

ever

and I need to retrieve those daggers but it's too dangerous and instead I

straighten

and Mai and I charge at the foe again

and again

and again

stabbing and slaying bringing death and mayhem

good riddance to the monsters I say

and there is

a

momentary—

lull.

* * *

There was a strange pounding in my head. I ignored it and dismounted Mai to get those two daggers back, brandishing the spear as I went. I wiped some of the blood off my face—some was already drying—and tried not to think about whose or what's it was. Had been. The survivors among us—more than to be expected—grouped together. I recognized one of them. It was the sentry.

"Well done, young Éadgar," he grinned, the grin of a wolf, all teeth and no laughter—except that of the grim god who has just decreed your death. "There is more to you than meets the eye, my friend."

I nodded my thanks. I did not care to open my mouth; that would have meant some of the blood on my face might have gotten inside. Who was I? I was a girl who fought and who was here to protect those she loved—

speaking of which, where were Éowyn and Merry?

I scanned the battlefield anxiously. The host, both Man and monster, appeared to be regrouping for the next onslaught. I swallowed hard. There seemed to be even more of them than before. And we had lost many. I was afraid to look at the bodies too closely lest I see a loved one there among the dead.

At last the sentry sighed and remounted his horse. "Let's get going. Our Eastern friends don't look like the waiting type." Three Rider companies had ridden up, and now he turned to their leaders to briefly discuss who knows what. Probably tactics or whatnot; I was too drained from battle to really care. Instead I just swung back onto Mai, ignoring the blood on the saddle, ignoring the blood matted and drying in her mane.

* * *

_ignorance is bliss…_

The host was riding toward us again, death written on their

faces

evil

leering

full of bloodlust

but not for the sake of others

for themselves

because they loved the killing

watching the life ebb

slowly

from

our

bodies which now still full of life thundered across the plain toward them

and we sang again

mournful even in its rejoicing

and I lost myself again in the song even more easily than before

as we meet

and clash

death and destruction riding in our wake

and I slash and stab and skewer

quite neatly

oh yes

how my spear goes right through the orc's flimsy armor and hangs

transfixed

from his shoulder,

dangling, bouncing as the monster tries to keep running

but Mai lashes out

with one fierce kick

and the breath is gone

all gone

the breath is gone from his body

and yet the numbers keep coming and coming,

threatening to take us over,

to overwhelm us,

we have gone through the orcs but now there are men,

wrapped up in strange, loose clothing with only their eyes showing,

dark and hungry and merciless,

_what evils have those eyes seen_

and suddenly I come face to face with a pair of very dark eyes that burn and burn

the darkness is so blinding

we clash and I

cannot get close enough to do anything

because of our dueling mounts

and I slide down off Mai

not really thinking

just doing

Mai has reared up, snarling

_I didn't know horses could snarl but she snarls all the same_

he doesn't yet know I'm missing as the hoofs

strike out

and he

covers his face with his shield, trying to keep his ground

and I roll on the ground, grimy and bloody,

and pop up right next to his horse

and he looks over at me but it is

too

late

for my dagger is already sliding into his

neck

his eyes bulge

he chokes

grasps

and then falls over,

toppling down slowly

from his high seat

onto the ground

down below

to death

but I forgot about his

his stupid bloody horse and it rears and tries to trample me

striking my shoulder

and I fall, roll out of the way as it

slams down onto the turf

and roll again as it

rears back up toward the heavens, filling my view, ready to take me, a life for a life,

and then

something

else

fills the sky with a scream

that stops the world.

And morning is blotted from the sky

darkness

darkness everywhere

and this

this is not panic like before, this is

terror

_Fear is when you are surrounded by darkness. Terror is when you feel the darkness sprouting up inside your very soul._

terror reigning supreme

horses and men and monsters' screams mingling, all are stricken,

saps courage

mine drains

but that stupid horse's courage is drained as well and it turns and flees

somehow I have been spared

another unworldly scream

it is the sound of death and the dying and the torture and the dark side of battle all at once

the sound of that dark fear in your heart that you are not so very different from those you are fighting

and I am back on my feet

and there is a mad rush all around me

and I am swept up in the tide of men and orcs alike all fleeing

the terror

that swoops

and descends

on the field

toward that lone helmed figure standing strong against it

I strain to see more

but the surge of terror

still has me fast

and it is all I can do to keep from going under

a man wrapped in those strange cloths next to me falters

the next moment he is trampled to death by his comrades

I run with the herd and do not glance back again

until

the rush lessens

and we actually look at each other

and realize

that the Eorlingas are outnumbered five-to-one

and this would be a perfect time to kill them off, don't you think

they seem to say

silence

and then sheer madness

I try to fend off three orcs at once, daggers flashing

spear long forgotten

I am in my fighting stance, whirling and slicing and stabbing and I get one

and

in his place

come two more

and I am

that desperate

cornered animal

beset on by wolves

that

in losing

is all the more deadly

and all the while a blanket of terror lies over us,

trapping us down, holding off any last vestiges of hope that might possibly exist

hope

what

is

hope

there is none here

I am dying

dying

not dead yet

but it will happen soon enough

the fear has become reality

that sentry, well, Rider, sentry the night I first met him, we somehow end up back to back,

me with my daggers and him with a great broadsword,

we fight and cover for each other

and hold our tiny island for just a little while longer

and we are still singing

in our defiance

but

then

oh

then

I

am

singing

by

myself

all

alone

the second voice, deep and gravelly, kind towards me, fatherly and nurturing,

flies upwards no more

I turn to stop a blow and in doing so

nearly trip

over a body

his body

smiling up at me in death

_and I never even asked him his name_

and a rage comes over me that I have never felt before

and now I do not know what happens

I do

not

know

anything

anything

until a cry goes up into the shuddering air

and I blink

and find myself surrounded by corpses

surrounded by death

there is no life near me

and the cry fades to a shrill wailing,

until at last it passes with the wind into nothingness

for a breeze is blowing,

a sea breeze

and I look to where I last saw that figure

the darkness is gone

morn is returned

and there I see a familiar small shape tottering over to a body

two bodies

that I recognize

even from a distance

even from this distance

_So I have failed then I have failed my task the princess along with Théoden King gone from this world_

but what is that

a twitch

no

just the wind

she does not breathe

and I am too far away to see it

too far

but

but

but nothing

something rustles ahead to my left, movement in the grass, I turn and there is someone

crawling

towards

the bodies

to make sure they are dead

he wears the clothes of the evil men from the south he carries their blade

they are dead already

any more will not harm them

but it will

harm

me

I cannot let him do this,

I will not

and I crawl behind him as quiet as I know how

so soft

so agonizingly slow

so as not to be noticed

fear

I have failed once already in my task

I shall not fail again, needless as this doing may seem,

and then I am close,

so close I could reach out and

touch his very boot

and I wait

and rise on my hackles

ready

steady

nearly

waiting

so

close

and

now I pounce, landing on him, knocking the wind out of his chest and the sword out of his grasp

Éowyn's body just to my right

I could reach out and touch it

but no time for that

the snake writhes under me

trying to get me

we roll and grapple and tussle,

fighting furiously,

the way I have not fought since I was young and we fought the merchant's son,

the bully who took my ribbons,

who Father said to be nice to because his own Father was rich and wanted to buy from us,

when I ran away and played with the servants,

and the boy tried to take Elise's book

he and his friend

and the four of us rolled and punched and kneed and scratched and I bit his hand until he cried

that was how I fought now

that same way

fighting for not just me, but everything I knew

pouring all my strength into it

all I had left

daggers flashing, but he disarmed me

and I remembered something from long ago

and I

bit his nose

and

I had the upper hand for a while until he

jabbed the sword he'd picked back up

into my side.

It went in just as my own dagger met his heart.

He stared down at me for a long moment,

him above, dagger protruding,

me underneath, sword inserted,

and I stared as the life fled from his body.

It crumpled down, and it was a moment or two until I could gather the strength to push it away, off of me.

* * *

At last I sat up slowly. The battle was merely pausing again; great forces still massed down at the city and above on the road. But here, for this instant at least, the battle was over.

I heard a noise behind me and looked over to see Merry blinking at me through his tears. "Saffi?" And as I got unsteadily to my feet, ignoring that strange redness spreading across my side, he came to me grieving anon. "The Witch-King—she slew the Witch-King."

I looked over at Éowyn, so pale and still. "I was supposed to protect her," I murmured, half to myself.

Men were riding up. There was Théodred, and there was Éomer. Théodred sank to his knees slowly beside his father's great form, lying on the grass still and cold. I drank in the sight of him, his beaten and worn armor, his golden beard still shining despite the dried blood here and there… Théodred was here. He was alive and well. Théodred was here. I was safe.

The red wetness on my side was spreading quickly, dripping down my leg. The world seemed to be spinning strangely. "Saffi… Saffi? _Saffi!_" Merry kept repeating, but it felt though he was sliding away, his voice only sounding from afar. Dimly I saw Théodred turn and see me, and then Éowyn, and Éomer's wail of despair as he rushed to his sister's side. But it was sliding away, and all that remained with me was a warm, welcoming grey that seemed to be enveloping me as I drifted off. Théodred was here; I was safe.

I was safe…

* * *

A/N: I borrowed lightly from ROTK Book/Part II Chapter 6: The Battle of the Pelennor Fields. But, not gonna lie, the movie image of the battle was also forefront in my mind - since it _is_ pretty epic.


	22. Relative Problems

Disclaimer: Well, seeing as that lovely blue border at the top of the page just screams "FanFiction . Net", I'm assuming you know I don't own anything and this is all (unfortunately) not for profit.

* * *

I came to in a dark hall, surrounded by the other injured and with the screams and groans of dying men echoing in my ears. I went to sit up only to find that my shoulder and stomach would not allow it. All around me healers in brown robes bustled about with bandages, compresses, and once (I shuddered at the sight) with a saw. I wanted to clamp my hands to my ears, but my arms wouldn't—couldn't—move. Even with my head already firmly buried in the sheets and pillows, I was unable to drown out the sounds of men dying, which seemed to reverberate and echo on and on unendingly. I know not which was worse—to hear the men dying or to watch it happen while I lay trapped in my own bed, able to do naught for aid.

To my right lay a man whose face had been mangled beyond all recognition; it took all my willpower to keep from vomiting at the sight. _Oh, Béma, don't let him have seen my reaction,_ I pled silently. I knew that if he had, I would have affirmed all his dooming thoughts and fears.

To my left lay another who had suffered not one wound but many. He also seemed to be suffering hallucinations or flashbacks: as I watched in immobile sympathy, he tossed about, delirious, and began talking to the air. A healer came over and tried to get the man to lay back down, but to no avail. He struggled violently, crying out at times, and flailed about this way and that. Indeed, he might have injured the healer if this had gone on, but abruptly, as suddenly as he had started, he fell faint and went limp and silent, much to the healer's consternation. W

hile the brown-clad matron hastened to administer fluids to him, I turned away and stared unseeing at the dark ceiling. How many men had died on the field today? How many widows now waited back in the Riddermark unknowing still of their new status?

I closed my eyes and tried to rest, but images of the casualties kept flickering before my eyes—the dead on the battlefield, the injured all around me, and the dying who periodically were being carried out (to where I knew not and, to be honest, cared not). It had clearly been a fierce battle, of that I was certain; the atrocities were evidenced throughout the hall. Had we won? or had it only resulted in stalemate? (or worse…) How many of my village-mates would I never see again?

Where was Théodred, and where was my brother?

Oh, Béma, where WAS my brother? Fear seized my chest in an icy grip. I had to find Sodred, I just had to. I could trust that people would look after Théodred, that he would look after himself... But my brother? I had to find him NOW.

Somehow I found the strength to push myself into an upright position. I ignored the pain shooting all through my body that this action caused and started gesturing frantically, trying to catch a healer's attention. (There was no sense in shouting, since I would just be drowned out by the tortured cries of those around me.) Somehow I caught one's attention, whether through movement or merely by sitting upright, and she bustled over to me purposefully. Before I could even get a word out, she was forcing a foul-tasting liquid down my throat and pushing me to lay back down. I sputtered and tried to speak in Westron, but either I was more incoherent than I had thought or she just wasn't paying any heed to my words.

I fell back on the pillows, and the healer promptly pulled the blanket up tight. I struggled again to make myself clear, but my tongue was not responding to orders properly, and my eyelids fought in vain to stay open. Suddenly I was too sleepy to move or even think.

Then I fell into a fitful sleep punctuated by visions of the unquiet dead.

* * *

When I next regained any sort of awareness, I found that I was no longer in the hall. This new room was small and dark, and it was barely big enough for the two beds it currently housed. I hadn't slept for very long, I knew, for I could barely make out the outline of a window set in the far wall. Everything around me felt still and hushed, the exact opposite of the hall. In fact, so opposite—in noise and life and sight—that it was eerie.

I tried to assess my surroundings: my bed; a table to my left, small and bare; some dark thing on the far wall that I decided was a window; and –

oh, NO.

I was alone in the room with a dead body.

_A DEAD BODY_.

I sat up so quickly I was caught momentarily lightheaded for a moment. _Oh, horse poo, horse poo, HORSE POO… _The room swayed back and forth strangely, and I was just preparing to begin hyperventilating in earnest when a strange weightless noise occurred to my left. I turned—jumped, really—to see a door opening. _Phew._

And there was the last person I would ever expect to see. My mouth worked of its own accord.

"Lord Aragorn?"

I was about to continue—most likely along the lines of "There's a dead body over there and I'm _not_ dead so please, please, _please_ get me out of here…"—but he caught my eye, which effectively silenced me. (Like Théodred, Aragorn has a commanding presence, you see, and it kind of snatches one's breath away.)

As I tried to breathe normally and failed, Aragorn gave me a weary smile and responded to my question. "I would we had met again under better circumstances, Lady Saffi. But for the time at least I remain under the name Strider, for I have not yet officially entered the city."

I got my breath back, and immediately my mouth took over. "_Good_ to_ know_, sir, but—THERE'S A DEAD BODY IN THAT BED."

Lord Aragorn looked at me curiously. "But Princess Éowyn is not dead."

* * *

The next thing I knew, broad white daylight was streaming right into my eyes. The small room I lay in was nothing like anything I'd ever seen before—bright and blinding, and so white the beauty nearly seemed rendered sterile. The walls, patterned with intricate stone-and-tile work, lay utterly bare of any added adornment, clad instead with shelves in the same brittle white. On the shelves, various instruments and cloths (none of which I recognized) were stacked in neat piles.

_How long have I slept?_

To my right lay the same bed as before, except now it was empty. I looked around for its former inhabitant anxiously, as though I wouldn't quite believe Éowyn to be alive until I actually saw her in the flesh. But no, the room was empty, devoid of all life but myself.

Then the door slammed open violently, and Sodred stormed in with a new scar on his cheek and looking absolutely furious. He paused briefly in the center of the room staring at me as if to verify that I wasn't a ghost. Then, with nary a word of greeting or welcome or_anything_, he set right in.

"WHAT ON ARDA DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? My GODS, Saffi, I know you have bad days, but I never thought you'd do something quite so IDIOTIC as THIS. YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED! YOU ALMOST _DIED_! Sure, you fought at Isen and with Arnalit, but FULL SCALE BATTLE? WHAT ON ARDA WERE YOU THINKING? Oh, wait, you WEREN'T. I am so ashamed! Béma, sister, what brought on the suicidal impulse? And don't you DARE give me any of that IT-WASN'T-MY-FAULT BULLSHIT. YOU KNEW, OR SHOULD HAVE KNOWN, EXACTLY WHAT YOU WERE DOING. – Oh, Béma, it was because of THÉODRED, wasn't it? IDIOT GIRL, you got all whiny and protective just because you're in _love_ and you THINK that he's in love even though there's really NO PROOF of the latter and you're ONLY NINETEEN and you decided to RIDE OFF and PROTECT your stupid LOVER and now you've nearly GOTTEN YOURSELF KILLED. WHAT WERE YOU THINK— no, DON'T ANSWER THAT. You, stupid, STUPID—As soon as you're well—no, as soon as you can ride without moaning at the goddamn pain, I AM STICKING YOU ON A HORSE AND SENDING YOU HOME. I cannot believe you would do something so stupid, so idiotic, so DAFT. I AM SO—"

But I never got to find out what he was, for Théodred strode in coolly, eyes flashing and his stance more imperious than ever, and interrupted Sodred mid-bellow. "Sorensson," he barked, and my brother stopped cold mid-sentence and spun round wildly. Théodred continued in a low growl, "Out of the goodness of my heart, I will tolerate you to live a bit longer, but if you ever think of doing something so foolish again I will have you thrown out. _Do you understand?_ This is a _sickroom._ Your sister is _injured_. And she will not be able to ride 'without moaning at the goddamn pain,' as you so _eloquently_ put it, unless she is allowed to heal _in peace and quiet. Do you understand?_"

Sodred glared at him, and the two men shot angry sparks at each other with their eyes, blue battling brown. "She's NINETEEN!" my brother spat. "She should not BE here!"

"But she is, and there is nothing you _or_ I can do about it now!" Théodred snapped back. "While I appreciate your protective sentiments, this is neither the time nor place to air your grievances! And I think with these injuries that she is paying penance for her mistakes enough!"

Sodred glared. "Just because you are my sovereign does not mean I do not have jurisdiction over my own sister's actions! As the elder sibling, it is my duty and mine alone to decide how and when to punish her!"

"Did you receive a blow to the head as well as the chest? But even that does not excuse your actions!" Théodred growled. In a minute, they were going to start circling each other the way wolves do just before a fight. To make matters worse, I could feel a raging headache coming on, triggered no doubt by all the shouting.

"Excuse me," I called sweetly. Neither even spared a glance my direction. I scowled. "HEY, TOUGH GUYS, OVER HERE." _Yeah, that's right, the girl in the bed whom you're arguing over…_ Sodred and Théodred stopped their circling and turned to me.

"Lovely to know you both care so much about my rest and recuperation that you'll fight each other in my sick-room!" I cooed. Théodred looked guilty. Sodred glared at me even more desperately. "You—" I pointed at Théodred—"kindly refrain from beating up _my brother_, at least not in here. And YOU—" I glared hotly at Sodred—"while I'm glad you care _so_ much about my sanity, could you not shout and rant and threaten your LIEGE LORD?"

At this, both men looked at the floor the same way the stable boys did whenever they were in trouble. I smothered a grin hastily as they shot quick daggers at each other before turning back at me with innocent looks plastered on their faces. I couldn't help myself and treated them to a little-boy-talking-to. "I want you two to behave yourselves. If you can't play nicely, then get OUT. And that means BOTH of you."

"But Saffi—" they chorused.

"But NOTHING. Don't come back here until you can control yourselves."

With a few last pleading looks, they bowed themselves through the doorway, and I was left alone once again—except that _this_ time I was exceedingly glad of it. Having company in a sickroom was clearly overrated.

* * *

Nevertheless, three hours later I was sick and tired of being bedridden. There was nothing to do, no one to see, and although there were definitely places to go, I couldn't actually move on my own. A healer who stopped by to check on my progress and to give me a spot of lunch informed me that I needed to give my wounds all of the day and the next to heal before I could even consider walking about. I'd heard Théodred and Sodred walk back and forth by my door for a while about an hour ago, deep in some sort of discussion, but try as I might, I couldn't hear what they were saying. But it had been another hour since then, and nothing at all had happened. I had dozed for a bit, but after sleeping for two days straight, I'd had enough of beds and napping for a while. I wanted to get out. I wanted to see the two men most important to me. I wanted to see Éowyn and Éomer and everyone from my village. Heck, I wouldn't have minded seeing _anyone_, maybe not even my father.

But no one came.

* * *

Another hour passed by. I've always hated healing-resting periods, and this one was made doubly painful given that I'd been out cold for two days and still had no idea what was going on. But just when I'd decided to roll over and try to go to sleep, the door opened at last.

"Saffi, I'm here to apologize."

I looked up. "Sodred?"

He smiled warily at me. "How are you feeling?"

"Lonely," I admitted.

"Sorry about that," he grimaced. "Everyone's been pretty busy, what with planning and taking care of the wounded and counting the dead…"

I shrugged. "I understand. It's just that I _hate_ being cooped up like this!"

He sat down on the end of the bed. "Saffi… I'm sorry I yelled at you like that. It was—"

"Really, really stupid of me to ride off to battle like this," I finished guiltily. "Yes, Sodred, I_know_."

He frowned. "I wasn't going to say that. I was _going_ to say that it was wrong of me to yell at you like that when you were all injured and you'd just woken up and—"

I grabbed his arm to make him stop. "It's okay. If I were in your shoes, chances are I'd do the same; only reason I'm not right now is because you're older and I'm bedridden."

Sodred grinned openly this time and then pulled me into a tight hug. "Don't scare me like that again!" he whispered at last. "When we came over to Théoden King… Saffi, I thought you were _dead_."

"No such luck yet, brother. – How'd you get that scar?"

He blushed. "I let a Southron get under my guard. He did more than just that—" He pulled down the neck of his tunic for me to see the edges of bandages wrapped round his upper chest. "It's only through barest luck that I'm not dead."

I squeezed his hand and searched for a way to ask the question that had been hovering over me since I'd woken. "Sodred, the battle: was it—I mean, how many…how…" I couldn't get the words out.

He grimaced. "The lists aren't compiled yet, of course. But hundreds died out there… I don't—Oh, Saffi, it was horrible. How did you do it already knowing what was in store?"

I looked up at him in surprise. For a moment, Sodred's cheery mask had slipped, revealing his own horror and sorrow. I had forgotten until now that it had been my brother's first battle. "Because it was my duty, and because there was no other choice…"

"What do you mean?" Sodred's voice cut sharply through my thoughts. "Surely you weren't _forced_ to disguise yourself and travel with us to battle?"

"Technically, yes: no one forced me to come. But still, I didn't have a choice. Not really…" Under Sodred's questioning gaze, I went on. "Éowyn was going hell or high water" (at this phrase Sodred looked briefly scandalized) "and I wanted, needed really, to come and take care of her. She wished—" I dropped down to a low murmur instinctively. "Sodred, I think she wanted to die."

He was going to say something—I just _know_ my brother would have said something to this—but just then the very subject of our conversation walked in, leaning heavily on her brother's arm for support. I grimaced. Éowyn still looked pale as death, and the dark circles were not yet gone from her eyes. Her right arm was in bandages as white as her skin.

Éomer greeted my brother cordially, and the two made small talk while Éowyn and I faced each other uneasily. At last the silence between us was too unbearable. "How are you feeling, Éowyn?"

She shrugged. "All right. My arm…" she raised her right arm with her left gingerly and then dropped it. "I still cannot feel anything."

"What did that?"

"Do you not know?" Éomer cut in. "She slew the Witch King." His tone was an interesting mix of pride and disapproval.

I, on the other hand, just felt pride. "Wow. Well done, my lady."

Her mouth turned down at this for the briefest of moments. _Whatever for?_ I wondered, worrying at how her eyes had darkened.

Éowyn looked over at our brothers. "Théodred told me about what happened this morning. – Éomer freaked out over me just like Sodred. Apparently when he saw me on the field, he cried out _Death_ and led his men pell-mell into the frey without a strategy or anything, not even defending himself, he was so distraught." She pursed her lips. "Fool."

I shrugged. "That does seem pretty foolish, but … understandable in a way. – How are the others?"

Éowyn gave lopsided smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, Merry is still sleeping; he aided me—" She broke off, sat down on her bed, and leaned close so that I could hear her low murmur. "Saffi, I need to tell you something."

I nodded encouragingly, and she went on haltingly in an even lower voice. "I froze."

"What—I don't—what do you mean?"

"I stood there before the Witch King, and I froze with terror. The most important moment of my life, and I did _nothing_. The only reason that I didn't die then and there was because Merry, the _halfling_, dared to attack the monster. He gave me the time—_he_ is the reason I was able to, to slay—but that isn't even fair, for I _didn't_ slay the Witch-King, do you see? It was Merry! I only delivered the death blow. The bravery, the courage was not mine, it was Merry's!" Her voice had been steadily rising in intensity though not volume, and she suddenly trembled violently. "Saffi…" Her voice trailed off to little more than a whisper. "I failed."

I grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Wake up, Éowyn! Sure, there was a, a hiccup. Did you really expect any otherwise? No one's perfect, and it's pretty amazing you even got as far as you did! Did you see anyone else standing there defying the Witch King to his face? I think not!"

Éowyn drew in a deep breath and then sighed. "Perhaps you are right." She glanced up at Éomer, who was standing by the door with Sodred, still deep in conversation. "I shall be leaving now. Thank you, Saffi. You have given me much to think upon."

I nodded, and she went stiffly out the door.

Sodred dropped a quick kiss on my cheek and made for the exit as well. "It's my first war council, Saffi!" he told me with mock glee. "But I would it were you there rather than I."

I cuffed him round the head. "I don't! Now be off—and try to actually be useful this time!"

"What?" At Sodred's yelp, Éomer grinned and made for the door, only to tense and edge away quickly with Éowyn when someone else came down the corridor. I leaned forward and peered through the doorway to get a good view.

Théodred and Sodred were facing each other, and the air crackled with tension. Their eyes were level, I realized suddenly. The two were the same height, but Théodred was much bulkier with muscle, making him look a lot bigger than my brother (not that this made either of them seem anything less than equals in dangerousness). There was a moment of utter silence while they looked each other up and down. I bit my lip.

And then they stuck out their hands to each other simultaneously. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding as Sodred and Théodred clasped hands as equals and greeted each other. The conversation was stilted, but the important part, at least as I saw it, was that they were obviously trying to get along. I beamed, and almost as if they had felt it, both glanced over at me through the open doorway. Sodred eyed Théodred warily and then nodded curtly at him. Then Théodred stepped into the room, pulling the door shut as he did so and leaving me with a brief glimpse of my brother settling himself carefully just outside.

"Saffi…" Théodred scowled, sat down next to me, and picked at the blanket. "Béma, dare I ask why you and Éowyn are here? – But I am somehow glad to have you here nevertheless. I have to go now to the council, so I cannot stay would like to."

"I know. Théo—" I grabbed at his hand compulsively. I didn't know how to say this, but I felt I had to say _something _nevertheless. "I'm sorry about… I'm sorry for your loss."

For a moment he wavered visibly. Then he nodded, and the emotions vanished. "Thank you. But now is not the time…"

"I _know_ that it is not the right time, my love," I shot back with a bit more asperity than I would have liked. "There is never a good time to talk about such things! Just remember that we all—even my brother—we are here for you. Not behind you just waiting for guidance to follow—beside you, all the way. Alright?" Théodred was giving me the strangest look. "What?"

"You love me," he breathed.

I could feel my face turning red, but I also couldn't help but tell the truth, even though I wasn't quite so brave as to look him in the eye while doing so. "Yes."

"Saffi, dearest, won't you look at me?" The words came so tenderly that I just had to do as he asked.

He was smiling at me, that warm, delicious smile that always somehow set me at ease and at the same time made me more aware of him than ever. For a heartstopping moment I thought he was going to kiss me again.

Then a loud "harrumph" came through the door. "Dammit, Sodred," I muttered.

Théodred's smile turned into a grin. "Saffi, my love, my darling..." And then he kissed me properly, and we took our time with it, notwithstanding my brother's increasingly vocal hints that they both ought to have already left long ago.

After that I could hear him and Sodred arguing about something all the way down the hallway, but I didn't care one bit.

* * *

At supper, Éowyn picked at her meal and pushed things around the plate until I was completely fed up. I was tired of her not taking care of herself; things were going to change whether she wanted it or not! So I coerced her into eating using the best of all tried-and-true methods: guilt and trickery.

"Gondor starves," I told her tartly as she shoved her bread toward the pile of refuse. "What is wrong with you? I know you're hurt, but that doesn't excuse cruelty."

Éowyn stuck up her nose at me. "I'm not cruel. Cruel people don't badger their friends."

"No, cruel people throw food away while others go hungry. It's bad enough that you nearly abandoned your own people without a second thought, but to endanger another as well… Didn't you hear the healers' gossip? This city has no food! How dare you waste that?"

"Fine, I won't waste it! – But what will I do with it, then?"

"If you're not going to eat it, then give it to someone who _will_."

"But I cannot leave the Houses of Healing to feed people," Éowyn pouted. "Aragorn looked at me as though I were but a willful child when I asked. After everything I've done, he still thinks me weak…"

I decided to change the subject before she got too caught up in her hero-worship problems. "Well, since you can't leave the building to feed people, I guess you'll _just have to eat it_."

She glared at me and then flushed upon realization of walking straight into my trap. "Fine! I'll eat, but because I want to, not because you told me to."

I hid a smirk. "Whatever you say, my lady; whatever you say…"

* * *

But later that night, while Éowyn tossed and turned in uneasy sleep, I remembered Gondor and Rohan starving. From there my mind jumped home to Dunharrow and Elise and the refugee camp—and the refugees themselves. And all I could think of was that I had made the wrong choice after all—that I should have stayed where I belonged.


	23. When None Return

Disclaimer: This is all purely for fun and not for profit in any way, shape, or form. LOTR and all canon characters, places, and things belong to Tolkien. Any resemblance to people living or dead is entirely accidental and coincidental unless meant to be so by the Grand Master of Arda himself.

* * *

_A time may soon come when none will return. Then there will be need of valor without renown, for none shall remember the deeds that are done in the last defense of your homes. Yet the deeds will not be the less valiant because they are unpraised._

-ROTK, The Passing of the Grey Company

* * *

Dated the first day of Théoden King's ride to Gondor, 5 days before the Battle of the Pelennor Fields

_Dear Saffi,_

_What shall I do without you here? I give "good" advice (supposedly) for sure, but I have never thought myself a leader, someone whom others look up to, listen to, and follow. You are the leader. That's one of the reasons why Théodred cares for you (yes, I am mentioning it, and it is the truth: you are the only one around here who doesn't see his affection for what it is). But me? I have no experience, no treaties, no lover to announce me to the world._

_I would you were here still, but it is for the best (how it aches to even make that choice, you having taken the lesser (?) of two evils). You made the only choice possible. I understand. I just fear that I will be unable to live up to your (and my) expectations._

_I wonder how Captain Wilfrid will react upon learning of my promotion… I would like to see his face upon reading the letter—and to have a quill and ink at hand to sketch it._

_But enough complaining from me, when you are off to do far scarier things! I wonder what exactly you are doing right now (probably getting ready for bed, I suppose, since the sun has set even here so high up) and how our fellow Alricsloftians (is that the proper word? I'm not quite sure how one would make 'Alricsloft' an adjective, even in Westron) are faring. I wonder what Éothain is thinking about right now… He's probably coming up with a way to argue with one of his fellow Riders right now; he surely doesn't need me for that._

_I am not writing this letter for any particular reason—there would be no way to actually deliver it to you—at least not for a while, anyhow. Perhaps it is because I am so scared of all that tomorrow will bring: new duties, a great responsibility, the task of winning over the hearts of all the refugees (not to mention impressing Captain Wilfrid enough that he doesn't immediately dismiss me as a simpleton)… And all the while that infernal blackness hangs over us like our impending doom._

_I am doomed. No, I will be fine, I will be fine—I must repeat this until I believe it, right, Saffi? Ugh. I must stop thinking about it! But I am so… I don't know. Everything, I guess: nervous, excited, anxious, eager…_

_Ah, well. I have done enough moping (and used up enough ink) for today, if not for the whole week!_

_Fare thee well,_

_Elise Tanrir's daughter—Tanrira … I cannot decide which construction to use: the common or the Rohirric. I never really had to think about it before until now. Well, you know who I am._

* * *

The speck in the distance was growing ever so slightly. I frowned and leaned forward, as though the extra two inches were really going to help. They didn't. The speck was kicking up a miniscule cloud of dust—it had to be a horseman. I leaned even farther forward, and farther, and farther...

There was a loud THUMP. "Ouch."

Éowyn turned from the window and eyed me critically. "Why are you on the floor, Saffi?"

I glowered. "Because I liked the view better."

"You can't see anything down there. ... Oh, sorry, Saffi." She came round the bed and helped me up. "I was just ... distracted."

I decided to let it slide. Éowyn didn't look worse than she had yesterday, but she didn't look any better, either. There were still dark circles under her eyes, and even though the breakfast platter had been sitting on our beside table for nearly an hour now, she had barely touched anything. I worried for Éowyn. She seemed to be retreating back into herself, and I had no idea how to help. I had involved her in conversation as much as possible, asking her opinion on just about everything I could think of, from farming techniques to old songs and folklore, but there was only so much talking I could do. But today was a brand new day, and anything could happen, right? Right?

After resettling myself on the bed, I decided to press again one last time. "Are you sure you don't want another pasty? Or some juice? Or—"

"Saffi..."

"—some dried fruit? Or some water? Or—"

"SAFFI, STOP, _please_." Éowyn was on her feet looking peeved. "Leave. Me. ALONE." Then she spun on her heel and snatched open the door. "I'm going for a walk; no, don't ask me where. I'm just going, okay? I need to get out of this place..." Her voice trailed off, and she stalked away down the hallway before I could catch my breath again.

Well, that hadn't gone over so great. I drooped and pined for Mai, who was safe and sound down in the army's encampment below (according to Théodred). Horses don't dither with suicidal impulses, and they never get mad at you for offering them more food. Horses, in short, are amazing. ...But this didn't leave me in the best of moods, either, so when someone knocked at the door, my first impulse wasn't a very kind one.

Éowyn had left the door ajar in her wake, so I was able to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Tall stance, golden hair... Nope, he was an Eorling, but he wasn't Théodred or my brother. I looked back out the window. Whoever that lone horseman had been, it didn't matter now; he was long gone, probably swallowed up in the mass of tents, men, and horses down below on the plain. Not that I could see the camp very well from up here, anyway: our window faced northwest towards the forest road.

"Miss Saffi?" Now the blonde head at the door was poked through cautiously. That meant I had to acknowledge it.

"Hi," I said as flatly as I could. "Do you need me or...?"

"Not exactly. I just—" He looked familiar for some reason. I sought to place him.

"_Captain Éothain?_" I was confused. Why was he here?

He ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Just Éothain, if you please; I am no longer a Captain of anything—well, I am still Captain officially, but in name only. One of the healers said you were here, and, well, I'm the only one who can walk right now, so I got sent up."

_The only one who could walk? _I decided on the easier question instead. "How many of you are downstairs?"

He shrugged. "We're in one of the main halls; I think there's about 100 total. ... They stuck all us Eorlingas together. Everyone who's mostly healed is back in the camp, so we're mostly left alone." He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Well, I can't walk, either," I told the captain ruefully. "They won't let me out of bed 'till tomorrow."

"Perhaps you could come visit then?" he suggested. He paused as though he was making his mind up about something. "They'd kill me for telling you this, but many are near depression. Oh, I know the weight of these dark times, but we—they have it bad. They've lost limbs and such, and now we don't know what to do with ourselves—we're not whole. If you could come and just talk to us, even, it would mean a lot." He stood straight and eyed me expectantly.

"Why me?" The words slipped out without my trying. After all, I was no one of any real importance. Why me, indeed?

"We trust you, Lady." He pronounced it with a capital L. I blinked. I ranked as no lady. And trust? What had I ever done to deserve _that_? "Will you be there tomorrow?"

I swallowed. "I will."

It wasn't until he'd left the room that I realized he no longer had a left hand.

* * *

3 days before the Battle of the Pelennor Fields

_Dear Saffi,_

_It has been but two days since you rode with Éowyn, and things are all right for now here in Dunharrow. I hope I packed you enough food; I wasn't sure how much Mai could carry and I know you must make haste, so I may have erred on the side of your hunger._

_I'm sorry about the tone of the last letter; it went a bit overboard with the complaining… I guess I just poured out all the fears, even the ones I didn't know existed, onto that sheet of parchment. Never fear. I will not do the same today if I can help it._

_As I said, things are going okay. There haven't been any spats between different villages or anything of the sort; overall the refugees have been very good about the situation. The old men and women especially have been a great boon to me—they've been through hard times before, I suspect, so they understand the importance of staying calm and all that stuff. I suppose I could regale you with the details of each day's doings, but you ought to be paying attention right now instead of reading this. Yes, I know that you will not read this letter until you are supposed to be doing something else more important…_

_Although, to be honest, I know not whether you shall ever read this letter. There is no way to reach the war procession even if Captain Wilfrid had the men to spare for messages. I guess I'm writing this, then, more for myself than anything else. It is nice to put down a few of my doings, to have a few quiet minutes to myself and my thoughts apart from the immense task that you have given me. Oh, I do not blame you (or Éowyn); truth be told, it is actually—well, not fun, but enjoyable. I like keeping the peace and making things run smoothly. It makes me feel useful, and it helps keep my mind from focusing too much on you and Éothain: and all the other Riders, too, of course. But it is nice to catch a breather once in a while, if you catch my meaning. (It feels odd to write in Westron after all this time; I have not used it properly in ages, not since Father and I left Esgaroth all those years ago. But I digress.)_

_Captain Wilfrid was most surprised to learn of my appointment, but he has accepted my presence with grace. So far. But I fear what will happen if—no, I shall not speculate on what disasters may befall us. But since our tasks for the most part do not overlap too much, he and I have agreed to only meet once a week unless a situation arises requiring both our administration. He covers the defense, and I do the day-to-day administration of supplies and relations and figuring out where people should sleep (and so on and so on)._

_How are you, Saffi? How is Éowyn? –Do not let her abandon her health all for the sake of whatever it is she seeks—and I am not sure even she knows what that is. She is so afraid of being caged in that she doesn't notice the bars she even now is building around herself. Don't let the darkness in the sky become the darkness inside yourselves._

_Oh, that last sounded a bit dark, didn't it? Hmmm… Nevertheless, I do not take it back. I fear it may be more true than you or I care to admit, and either way, you know what I mean._

_I must halt, for I am so very sleepy. Please forgive me the inkblots all over the page._

_Fare thee well,_

_Elise Tanrira_

_Postscript: I have never called myself that before—Tanrira. I mean, I have been introduced as Tanrir's daughter many a time, just never as Tanrira, never using the Rohirric naming system. And yet I did it just now without even thinking about it: I instinctively put down Tanrira rather than fussing over whether it ought to be that or Tanrir's daughter. Does this mean I am become a true Eorling, then?_

* * *

At noontime one of the healers brought in lunch along with a fuming Éowyn; her walk had clearly been curtailed. While the healer fussed with sheets and whatnot, my princess flopped down onto her bed and glowered at the white ceiling.

"What's wrong?" I said blandly.

The scowl deepened. "Those stupid healers won't let me do anything! They even made me sit down; I had to spend several minutes just RESTING before they even let me come back here!"

Not for the first time, I thanked Béma that none of the healers spoke Rohirric. I also wondered just how much of this resting business had actually been imposed. If she had truly been able to keep going, there was no way Éowyn would have let anyone stop her. But on the other hand, she obviously wanted to get out of this room, something I didn't blame her for in the slightest.

I turned to the healer, who was just about to leave. "Excuse me?" I asked in my politest Westron. "Do these Houses of Healing have any sort of outdoor lawn...porch...plant-area...thingy?" My limited vocabulary gasped for breath, flopped, and died, like a fish out of water.

The healer considered my words. "Yes, we do have a garden," she said at last. She spoke very slowly, sounding out each syllable for my under-educated benefit. It would have been funny if I didn't feel so stupid. "Why would you like to know?"

"I know that the Princess here cannot walk far, but would it be acceptable for her to go to this ...garden... thing?" It was a weird word in Common, okay?

"Yes. Of course. Would you like to go, my lady?" She turned to Éowyn, who nodded mutely. "Well, then, right this way, madam." And she took Éowyn's now-unresisting arm and led her out again.

I smirked and congratulated myself until I realized that Éowyn hadn't touched the lunch tray once.

* * *

(still) 3 days before the Battle of the Pelennor Fields

_Dear Saffi,_

_I know, I know, another epistle not a full day after the last. But since I have not sent any messengers off with the other letter, I suppose no harm done, eh?_

_I went down to the river—in name to draw some water but really to get out of the stifling fortress—and found our picnic basket. The food was still good and will be still for quite some days, so I took it back to my room. It is now wrapped up securely next to my bed for future use._

_Oh, I forgot to tell you! As temporary Lady of Dunharrow—a title that I shy from even writing down, for it does not feel right to be called so—I get my own room! Well, Lady Éowyn's room. Anyway, it is small but airy, with a spectacular view out over the valley. Harrowdale seems strangely empty without the Riders' encampment filling it all up._

_The first two days being in charge were hard, not because anything bad happened but because no one (not even I) knew what kind of leader I would be. But the old women have taken me under their wing, so I have been accepted by the flock—their husbands (along with the younger women and all the children as well) wouldn't dare go against these feisty old grannies. Heck, even Captain Wilfrid doesn't dare contradict them. They are a force unto themselves. (I want to be as fierce as they someday, wouldn't you?) To describe these women: think of Ama (same wrinkles, same no-nonsense attitude) and then multiply by about fifty. You see? I clearly had nothing to worry about. Ama's been helping me when she can, as have Anwyn, Lyna, and some of the other girls from back home, but mostly I'm on my own here. I drift about from group to group checking on each one's supplies, space, and general level of tension. (Each village group is run in all but name by the eldest and wisest lady present.) In the afternoon I go over the fortress in general._

_But enough about me. Who are you riding with? I would ask whether there's anyone we know (so I could send my regards), but it's a stupid idea considering you couldn't actually ride with anyone but utter strangers. There you are, somewhere in Eastfold, surrounded by perfect strangers who are yet in some way kith and kin to you; and here am I, in much the same situation. Except sometimes I do not feel as if I truly belong, for all looked at Father oddly and even now sometimes look at me the same. As you know, he is not an Eorling, well, not by blood at least. And I am only half Rohirric technically. But I feel like a true Eorling, not a woman of Esgaroth. That place is so far away—in my mind as well as in truth—that I do not feel connected to it. Yet always there is a strange urging to go there, to settle this question once and for all. I would like to see more of Arda beyond this one corner and figure out which bit I could at last call home._

_But once again I am blathering about nothing, as Éothain would remind me. Back to business._

_Fare thee well,_

_Elise Tanrir's—Tanrira (?)_

* * *

After lunch, I took up Éowyn's post of staring out the window. I couldn't see very much of the encampment, but I did have a good view of all the northern road that the morning's horseman had taken, the road that led straight out of the Druadan Forest and beyond that the Riddermark. Home. I also had a decent view of the city itself. Mundburg—Minas Tirith as the Gondorians called it—looked to be a beautiful place, its gleaming architecture proclaiming power and glory and civilization in all its high courtliness and cleanliness. _Too clean_, I thought stubbornly. There wasn't a speck of dirt to be seen, at least from this angle. I liked home better, with its wooden buildings and horses and soft, rich soil that spoke of all things living and growing.

I wondered whether or not Théodred was eating lunch, too. _He's probably still in war-council with Lord Aragorn and the other Captains_, I remembered miserably. It was a wretched business, war. And we still didn't know the full list of dead. Beyond Théoden, the only dead I knew of were Rynis and Grimbold. I had _liked_ them. I sniffed back a tear impatiently.

"Would this help, my lady?" a gentle voice asked. A handkerchief hove into my blurry vision. I turned, confused. It was a man with raven hair and gray eyes. He looked tired but kind. Who knows how long he'd been sitting there next to me; he must have been amazingly quiet on his feet. "The Warden asked if anyone could come check on the ladies," he began, "but clearly I have missed one."

"Princess Éowyn went to the gar-den," I supplied helpfully, only stumbling slightfully over that dreadful word. "For some fresh air." He nodded. "How are the other patients doing?"

"Alright." He grimaced, and a shadow fell over his face briefly. "Many have lost whole limbs, so they must heal in the mind as well as the body, if you get my meaning."

I certainly did. Just watching Éowyn, not to mention my conversation with Éothain, was enough to convince anyone that even though she would probably be able to ride and wield a sword as well as ever in a few days, she wasn't yet healed. "I understand completely. My friend…" I instinctively checked to make sure she wasn't listening. "The princess, Éowyn—her arm's almost well, but she herself…"

"She is fair of face, I hear, but cold, though I cannot say for sure, not having met the lady. – What would you have me do?"

I shrugged helplessly. "I don't know! I know not what to do for her myself! She needs… She _wants_ Aragorn—she thinks she's in love with him—but what she really _needs_ is her brother. But he is probably about to ride off to more battles. And once again she'll be stuck here alone, and she hates being left behind… – And she's not cold! Well, she seems so right now, but inside she is not, I assure you."

He ceded my point and, after we spoke a bit further, he bowed his way out graciously. I watched him go and wondered.

I wasn't sure why I had told him all this, but I felt as though I could trust him. I didn't know why; come to think of it, he hadn't been dressed like any of the other healers I'd seen so far, who had been clad in those brown robes covering all from head to foot. This man's tunic and breeches had been plain, but the make had been good, and he had an air about him—of authority and command but also of understanding. _He would make a good leader—like a Captain or something; he seems the type to win and deserve the love of his men following_, I mused now. It was too bad he was only a healer, I reflected. In these tough times, Gondor looked as though it could use more men like him at its helm. I wondered what his name was…

* * *

2 days before the Battle of the Pelennor Fields

_Dear Saffi,_

_Are you tired of riding yet?_

_I am as well as can be, when we scramble daily to fit in more refugees and find more supplies. My fear is not that we shall not be able to fit everyone but that they will not be fed. It is not yet harvest-time in the Wold for another month, so we exist on the dregs of last winter's cache. To this effect, Captain Wilfrid has agreed to send out teams of hunters each day to back our stores with what fresh foodstuffs we can procure._

_Rumor rides in with these new refugees, men mixed with the elderly and womenfolk and children—after all, some men had to stay out of the muster, whether because they could not handle a weapon or (more likely) had to stay behind to tend the farm. All for naught now, they say. There are stories of villages burning in the distance, people riding north to check on their relatives and never returning. What evils now brew in Wold?_

_I would say this to no one but you or Ama (or possibly Éothain, though he would probably just laugh at me), but Saffi, I'm worried. But only a bit._

_Fare thee well,_

_Elise Tanrira (I think.)_

* * *

Late afternoon rolled around and I was more bored than ever. I had asked to help make bandages and the like, which had precipitated a lengthy argument in Sindarin about my strength or something like that (I'd only really understood every third word); but at last things had been decided in my favor, so at least my hands were busy. My mind? Not so much. Merry had come by, munching an apple. He looked a bit pale, and like Éowyn, he still had one arm bandaged and unmoving. He was bright and cheerful, though, and he brought a warmth to the room that had been previously lacking.

Éowyn returned late, on her own this time, just before dinner. The sun was low in the sky and shone directly through the window, making Éowyn look much more pink and healthy than she really was. We ate—well, I ate and piled her plate high with food, notwithstanding the glares being sent my way. "I've got no one else to fuss over," I finally offered as explanation.

Her mouth twisted into what might have been a smile. Kind of. "You like to take care of people, huh?"

That gave me pause. I had never really thought about it before. "I've never really had to do this before, taking care of someone, I mean. That's probably why I'm doing such a terrible job at keeping you out of trouble."

The silence went on for such a while after that when she did reply, I nearly jumped. "You're not doing a bad job at all. You're..." She looked me full on in the eyes. "You're actually good at this, Saffi. Like at Dunharrow when you were organizing those supplies. I'm just a bad patient."

"Thanks," I mumbled. I'd rather expected her to hate me after the constant nagging to eat and all that. "Thanks. Éowyn, I—"

But she was moving back toward the window on the other side of the room, and from her blank expression, I couldn't tell whether she even remembered I was there anymore.

* * *

1 day before the Battle of the Pelennor Fields

_Dear Saffi,_

_I didn't think it was possible, but somehow I have managed to squeeze in one hundred and fifty more refugees. They are from northern Wold and spoke little; they are tired and hungry, in need of rest rather than to tell me their worries. I shall learn of them soon enough: I have scheduled a meeting with their Headman and Captain Wilfrid early tomorrow morning. I would write more, but they arrived late, and it took long to find them food and clothing along with reconciling the earlier arrivals to sharing the space._

_Despite my whining, overall people have been very good about this sort of thing. There have been few complaints. Mostly the problems have been coordination issues—finding enough blankets and figuring out the food rations—not with villager spats and the like._

_I fear to learn what tidings they bring. Rumor is bad—hints at dark, evil things headed our way—for it circulates swifter than air and makes one's imagination jump to all sorts of terrifying conclusions. But tomorrow I will be learning the truth, and that is always far worse. One cannot push aside the truth. I would you or Éothain were here to tease me into forgetting my troubles, if only for a short while._

_Oh, goodness. Sorry about that giant inkblot right there. My mind was wandering, and I clearly forgot to take care of the pen. Well, I must stop wasting ink and go to bed. Time to sleep!_

_Fare thee well,_

_Elise (I don't have the time to puzzle out today's name choice)_

* * *

I had finished eating, and the light was slowly fading when someone came to the door. It turned out to be a small Gondorian boy perhaps ten years of age. Definitely not the healer I'd expected. He held in his hands a thick roll of parchment bundled together.

"Is it for the Princess?"

"No, ma'am. For the Lady Saffi."

"Me?" _Lady? Again?_ "Thank you. Who sent this?"

"King Théodred," the boy said proudly. It took me a few seconds to process exactly who he meant. "He gave it to me himself."

"You were down in the encampment?" I didn't bother keeping the disbelief out of my voice; I highly doubted that the boy had been wandering through all the armies of the West unimpeded.

"Oh, no. I was at the marketplace on the third level, and he came through looking for the Houses of Healing. I told him I knew a shortcut, 'cuz I do, and then he asked if I could just bring you these myself. He has a nice horse."

"He sure does," I agreed. "Thank you very much, uh..."

"Bergil son of Beregond!"

"Beregond?" Was I supposed to know the name?

"He's a Guard for the Steward!" Ah, the kid was proud of his papa. It was cute. The kid was pretty cute, too. I wanted to hug him, but I had a feeling it would make him feel a little less manly. Because he was definitely old enough to be protecting the city, right?

"Well, thank you, Bergil. We've got some food left, and I'm stuffed. Want some?"

He did. "No."

"Not even as payment for delivering this message?"

Bergil wavered.

"Well, I guess I can't accept the message. I don't know about Gondor, but in Rohan, you have to reward the messenger. It's practically the law. And I don't have anything to give besides food, so you'll just have to go back to the King and tell him sorry." I tried to look mournful.

"Oh, all right!" Bergil snatched up three meat pasties. (I still don't know where they got the meat from.) "Thanks a bunch, my Lady!"

"You are welcome!" Once he'd gone, though, I couldn't help but shake my head. A Lady? _Me?_ What was with people today?

I turned to the bundle of parchment. A smaller, ragged piece had been tied to the rest; it was a note from Théodred saying only that it had been delivered this morning and was addressed specifically to me. His handwriting looked harried and rushed. Poor man. His father just dead and he couldn't mourn; instead he had to look ahead and care for his people. Not for the first time, I wished I could go see him.

But enough mooning, I told myself crossly, for there was "Dear Saffi" in Elise's neat handwriting. I blinked hard to get the sudden water out of my eyes. I missed my friend, but it hadn't really struck me until now. But what was she doing writing to me? It was a nice letter, long and chatty. She sounded nervous but otherwise fine, a conclusion affirmed by the next two missives, both of which spoke of relative security and comfort. She got her own room and everything!

So why was this here? What had happened that would justify sending a rider all the way here to Gondor?

I read the three letters over again. No, everything seemed fine. Oh, wait; there were more.

The next letter was chipper. Too chipper, in that falsely cheery voice Elise always got whenever she was worried about something but hoped it would blow over. I bit my lip and worried at the paper. The rumors she spoke of, those reports we'd gotten on our 5-day dash to Gondor... orcs in the Wold... no, it couldn't be. Surely not. The Riddermark's danger had passed with the fall of Isengard. If Elise was in trouble, she would have said so. Or at least hinted at it.

Which she did in the very next epistle.

I put the parchment down and sat up very straight. The sky outside the window was darkening quickly; soon I would be forced to light some candles to keep reading. _Elise will be okay_, I told myself. _She's in a fortress, for Béma's sake. It has its own water supply. _But my heart wrenched at the thought of all those monsters in the Wold, destroying villages left and right just as they had done mine and others nearby. I suddenly felt the urge to puke, remembering the stench of burning wood and burning flesh. I needed to get up, to move about, something, anything but be trapped in this awful bed! I was useless, absolutely useless. I felt angry and sorry all at once. And guilty. Because, you see, it was my fault that Elise had had to write that letter.

There was one more, I found. It went:

* * *

Dated the day after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields

_Dear Saffi,_

_It has been two days since I last writ, and things are not going so very well at all. There is much to tell and little time to write in (not to mention little parchment left to write on)._

_The refugees I last told you of—the ones who arrived here just as the sun was setting—fled northern Wold for good reason. Orcs and other monstrous beasts march south toward us even as I write this missive. They destroy everything in their path—farms, villages, men, horses—and take the women and children to do things… It is horrible. It is a great force._

_All of yesterday and today we have had refugees pouring in. I have made space as best I can, but even so the caves will be crowded, and I fear they will grow more crowded still, for many say that other refugees are coming as well. We do not have even a quarter of the men necessary to defend the fortress properly from such an onslaught, but we must do the best we can. Captain Wilfrid does not like my idea, but he has agreed to it for we have no choice: tomorrow we shall begin teaching the older children and all the women basic weaponry._

_The scouts say that we have at best four days before the orcs arrive. The only reason the host is moving so slow is because they are taking the care to destroy every single living thing in its path, whether man or beast or plant. As a result, even if—no, WHEN we make it through this (I must think positive, you will say), there will be little to eat beyond what is currently stored. Ingenious, really: either way we die._

_Oh, Béma, I actually said it, when I promised myself I would not think it. But it is true, Saffi, it is true. There is no way Dunharrow alone can survive this. I have checked all supplies, and we are doing our best to gather more from neighboring villages—as they come in their flight, we send Riders out to go back and bring more foodstuffs and clothing—but we have not the manpower, Saffi, and we have not the food to last us a siege. The only good thing is that the darkness broke yesterday morn as a fresh, stiff breeze rose up. I knew not how it dampened our spirits until it was gone and we were free to look up at the beautiful blue sky. So if we fall, we will at least be able to see the sky when we do._

_We have sent a messenger to the Hornburg requesting aid (both provisions and Riders), and I send these letters to you, my friend, along with a formal request to the King. I pray this finds you and Éothain and my father and Éowyn and Sodred and your dashing prince and Ælfred and Anders and Tobíen and everyone else, everyone, even those whom I do not know, safe and sound. I know not when we shall see each other again._

_Fare thee well,_

_Elise Tanrira_

_Postscript: Yes, I am decided on this at the last._

* * *

The rider had come swiftly indeed, to travel such a distance in three days' time.

Elise could soon be trapped in Dunharrow with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

What had I done?

Okay, so I knew that there was nothing I could have done to change things. If I had stayed, I might have been trapped in Dunharrow along with Elise, and the only difference in events would be that it might have been me who penned such letters. I knew my presence wouldn't have kept the orcs from marching across the Wold, and it wouldn't have gotten my people more food. I knew this.

But I still should have been there. Being here, relatively safe in the Houses of Healing, made me think that perhaps I wasn't so different from Éowyn after all. I hadn't jumped at the chance to ride off to battle with her, but I had still abandoned my people… I had left them behind. But what choice had I? It had been no choice at all; I knew this…

Didn't I?

No, it _had_ been a choice. Éowyn could have left on her own, and things would have gone much the same way, if different at all. I could have stayed behind.

But I hadn't. And now I had to accept my actions for what they were and somehow move on.

* * *

It was a very long and sleepless night for me. I tossed and turned, moving between dreams of the battle—the battle of the Pelennor Fields, as some were already calling it—and between images of Elise, Anwyn, Danmarr, and all the others being hacked to pieces one way or another by the invading orcs. At last I couldn't take it, and instead of trying to fall back asleep after yet another of such dreams, I sat up and gazed around.

The window was shut as it always was at night, but a thin sliver of moonlight snuck its way through the crack in the shutters and gleamed on the floor. I gazed at it, willing myself to think nothing at all, to make my mind devoid of words…

As if in a trance, I experimentally swung my legs over the side of the bed and then maneuvered into a standing position. It was a heady feeling.

One cautious, trembling step—my right foot forward, then my left foot coming to meet it. I let go of the bedpost slowly.

Another step… and then another… and then another and another and—

And I had crossed the room to the window. I felt blindly for the latch. _There…_ The shutters swung open on their own, and I caught my breath.

It was beautiful outside, absolutely beautiful. I had seen full moons, but never such a one as this. It was abnormally large, as though it had swung closer in order to watch the events unfolding below, and it gave off such a bright light that I could see everything outside as perfectly as if it were daytime. The city below _glowed_, absorbing the light and looking like another man-made moon shining right back up. It seemed ethereal, almost heavenly, as though its power and greatness could not be contained in mere stone. Minas Tirith—Mundburg seemed too earthy a name for such a heavenly vision as this—seemed to reach up toward the ether while still grounded in the land, as though to epitomize all that was good with humankind. So _this_ was why Gondor had been called the jewel of the kingdoms of Man…

I stayed at the window a long time, not thinking, not wondering, just _being…_

And somehow I was reconciled, whether because of the moonlight or the city or … or whatever. It didn't matter, not really. I wasn't exactly proud of my actions, but neither was I ashamed. They were done, and done by me.

And when I was done staring out in the moonlight, I went to bed and had no more nightmares.

* * *

END OF PART III

* * *

The Old English word for garden is léactún. Not remotely similar to garden at all.

A/N: According to my copy of LOTR's appendices, the Ents "defeat the invaders of Rohan" coming from the north two days after the Rohirrim begin their ride to Minas Tirith. However, to me this doesn't quite tally with the actual reports brought to the army, of invaders on the _eastern_ borders and orcs already marching in the Wold itself. So for my purposes I have (again) departed from canon to bring more strife and agony to the Riddermark in the form of another invading army.


	24. Between Hope and Dreams

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, not even the pencil I used to plan out this chapter. (I found it on the floor.)

* * *

**PART IV**

_"Better be with the dead ... than on the torture of the mind" (Shakespeare)_

* * *

The Armies of the West left the very next morn. Éowyn was silent as the grave all day after Éomer exited the room, and for the first time, I did absolutely nothing about it.

* * *

The Armies of the West weren't just heading east. They were headed straight for the heart of Mordor itself, to the Black Gate. They were hopelessly outnumbered. They were not going to win any battles; they were just a diversion so the Enemy would not notice the two hobbits—Merry's friends Sam and Frodo—who were, hopefully, deep in the heart of the Enemy's lair right now. It was a hopeless task. The most that might happen was that our armies would fulfill their purpose as a diversion, the Enemy's thing would be destroyed—and Théodred, and my brother, and all who served in the armies would be dead.

Dead.

(Dead!)

I forced down any tears which might have been lingering and went about my business: keeping promises.

* * *

I had promised Captain Éothain—and, more importantly in some ways, myself—that I would come; and promises were promises, not things to be taken lightly and discarded when one got scared.

Not that I was scared, of course.

* * *

"Well met, Captain!" I said, purposely discarding the more neutral "hello." I wasn't going to be forcefully cheerful, but neither was I going to carry on morosely worrying about things I had no control over. (_I have Éowyn for that_, I thought rather dourly.) Instead I strode purposefully into the hall and accosted a very surprised Éothain.

He recovered quickly and bent over my hand the way men must for a Lady of rank. _Which_, I scowled inwardly, _I am not._ "Well met, indeed, Lady Sorenna," he smiled.

"Saffi," I corrected rather wearily.

"Lady Saffi, then," he amended. "I am most glad to see you.— _Thank you,_" the last in a soft, heartfelt whisper which tore at me.

I nodded, not really trusting my voice at the moment, and he turned to the now-watching room. The hall was long and high-ceilinged. Because the whole room had been built of white stone, the light streaming in through the windows was reflected and enhanced by the bright ceiling rather than being dark and cavernous. I had a feeling the architect had once been sick for a while himself, for much of the upper walls and ceiling were covered with beautiful detailed mosaics: it was the kind of thing a person could look at for days at a time.

"This is Lady Sorenna—Lady Saffi," Éothain announced in that clear speaking voice of commanders which carries so easily across the battlefield. Not that this projection was really necessary, seeing as most all the conversation had petered off once I'd entered.

There was a still moment while they all assessed me, broken only by low whispers traveling around. I looked about me steadily, meeting each gaze and making sure I made contact before moving on to the next man. A few looked vaguely recognizable, but there were none I knew. I couldn't decide whether that was a relief or not.

"_The_ Lady Sorenna? Sister of that Sorensson fellow from Westfold?" someone hissed a little too loudly.

"_Yes_, that one. – Who else?" Éothain shot back.

I couldn't help myself—"Which one?"—and a half-smile slipped out as well.

One of the men in the front smiled back. "The sister who fought a Dunlending and helped her brother wrangle a treaty, Béma knows how. Perhaps you know her?"

I grinned. "A little."

Someone else in the back, someone I couldn't quite see, said disbelievingly in a voice that carried through the quiet, "Did she really—" He stopped short when Éothain glared at him. It was a quality glare, maybe even better than Elise's.

I finished the question: "Did I really fight the chieftain of the Dunlendings?" I looked closer at the rows of beds. Ah, there he was.

The man snuck a glance at Éothain, who was still looking menacing, but he didn't back down. "Yes. – Did you?" he asked smarmily, with all the looks of one who wouldn't believe a word I said no matter what. He was maybe fifty, with good teeth, a full head of hair... and a smug expression.

I strode forward.

"Yes, I did fight him," I replied in my friendliest voice. Then I added helpfully, "Would you like a blow-by-blow account, or would you rather just ask the chieftain himself when he visits the king in Edoras? I'm sure we could arrange something. Or maybe—even better—we could visit the chieftain when _we_ get back to the Riddermark!" I went from over-helpful to sincerely excited, leaving him confusedly trying to figure me out. It wasn't too hard to act it; I really would have liked to go on such a trip, Valar be willing. "That would be great! I've always wanted to visit Dunland." I turned to Éothain. "Do you think Elise would like to come? She could chronicle the Dunlending perspective while we're there! What a wonderful idea." To the Rider in front of me: "You can be head of my bodyguards, since you agree I absolutely_must_ hire some. Thank you so much, Captain…" My voice trailed off, all excited, expectant glory.

"Just Rider, ma'am. Rider Asgeir." He looked flustered, and his face was gradually getting redder and redder.

I snapped back to my business manner. "Well, a pleasure to meet you, Rider Asgeir. I am sure we shall be _great_ friends." I stuck out my hand a tad imperiously, and he bent over it immediately.

I bustled back to Éothain, who had an odd look on his face. "What?" I murmured.

"Nothing– Well done, my lady," he replied, and then at a normal speaking volume, he said, "Shall I make introductions?"

"That would be lovely," I replied seriously.

"All right," and he was off, leading me around to each and every bed.

Éothain told me a little something about each man, and then I spoke to him for a few minutes before going on to the next. As we went, I could hear the conversation starting behind me, first whisperings and then speech rising in volume gradually till it filled the hall. I studiously ignored it and concentrated fully on each man before me.

By the time I'd made it nearly all the way around the room, it was well after noon, and the healers were carting in the midday dinner. One brought a plate to me, and I ate with the men at the end I'd not yet reached. At first things were rather stifled, but as lunch went on and I chattered steadily on—I'd become rather good at this after yammering on at Éowyn—they gradually relaxed and began telling me more about themselves, their families, their homes…

And all the while, I wondered inside, _What, really, can I do here?_ Many were Théodred's age or older. Their entire lives, whole existences had revolved around the army. Their injuries meant that none would ever fight again. Would they be able to reinvent their views of themselves? I had no doubt they could still survive and prosper—but would they have the will to?

* * *

The next morn brought with it skies falsely bright and blue. The healer who brought breakfast in brightened upon seeing us. She looked to be in her mid-forties or so.

"Good morn to you," I smiled in Westron. (I wasn't nearly brave enough to attempt mangling any Sindarin.) "Have you… heard good news, Mistress?"

She looked a little embarrassed for some reason and calmed some. "Not really. It's just—the King has come! It's so amazing, as though it were all but a dream. I'm glad I have you here to remind me that it's all really happening."

I considered this while she bustled round Éowyn motheringly; I was so used to having a King. What would it be like without one? I strove to remember my lessons from Elise about Gondor. It was ruled by—the Steward, that's who. It had been a Steward who first granted the Riddermark to Eorl. Gondor … had once had kings, but that was long, long ago, back in the distant past. Or so it seemed to me, at least. Perhaps Gondor had a longer memory because it was so ancient.

"You are glad you have a King? I mean, Gondor has been without one for so long…"

"Exactly why we celebrate!" She looked at me sharply and then softened her gaze. "Gondor always has and always will be a kingdom, first and foremost. We are proud of our ancestry. We have always been loyal to the king."

_Even if he be but shadow and fancy to you?_

She went on musingly, "It already seems but a dream…"

* * *

Merry stopped by for another visit looking exceedingly lonely. He was munching a pasty, but not very wholeheartedly—quite out of character. Éowyn was starting to look restless, but I wasn't ready to let her out of my sight again just yet; she was talking again, but only barely.

"What if we all go to the garden?" I congratulated myself inwardly for finally pronouncing it right. Maybe my Westron really was getting better.

Éowyn actually looked interested at this. My suspicions had been right, then; she needed the greenery as much as I did, if not more so. Minas Tirith was more magical and less human than home, and right now Éowyn needed home and dirt and _reality_, not something high and otherworldly like this city, all hard stone pushing up and away from the soft earth.

Merry agreed swiftly as well. As we set out, my gaze fell on his bare feet. _Of course_, I realized rather ashamedly; _this stone can't feel good for him, either. _From what Merry had told me of his home, it sounded more like Eastfold, with all the trees and small farms, than this here city of Men.

Maybe we were all of us homesick.

* * *

The garden was soft and subdued. Everything was neat and orderly and showed signs of much careful tending, as befitted a place such as this. The paths meandered just enough to give one the feel as though wandering was possible even though it really wasn't. The garden was of decent size, but only a blathering idiot could truly get lost.

Merry and I moseyed on together, while Éowyn wafted over to the wall to what looked, from her stance and easy movements, to be a spot she was used to frequent. It looked out over the city and the fields below, out to the… I stared hard. Those dark, sullen mountains; the sun's arc traced overhead; the intensity of Éowyn's stare: it was the East.

Éowyn was watching the East, and if my sudden inkling was correct, she had been watching it ever since she'd been showed to this garden.

* * *

"Saffi…" Merry began hesitantly. "Do you think—" He stopped, swallowed, and then started anew. "What's your home like?"

I turned from the giant bush I'd been staring rather blindly at. "Green. And in the summer, golden: we grow wheat on our farms, the big ones. The grass of the open wold turns golden at the tips as well in high summer—that's when it gets so hot that the grass gets scorched at the top, and it turns white-gold. People sometimes describe it as a sea of grass… but I've never seen the sea." I smiled at the memory of the wolds in summer.

"What's _wold_?"

I searched for the word in Westron. "Wold is like a field, except, bigger, more open… you plow a field, you plant it; but the wold is big open grassland owned by no-one…"

"You mean plains?"

"Yes, that's the word. – In the summer, the air gets hot—not thick, just _hot_, as though the sun came closer to the world somehow and burned away some of the clouds. And the sky is so blue… And then there are the storms, massive thunderstorms when the clouds turn black and boil in the sky—then there's hail—giant chunks of ice—and tornadoes."

"What are _tornadoes_?" Merry picked his way through the foreign word carefully.

"Giant twisting clouds that come down from the sky and just suck things up—they look like funnels, and everything in their path goes whirling up into the sky—dirt, houses, and all. They are really scary." I added derisively, "Outsiders think tornadoes are exciting until they actually live through one."

Merry plopped down on the ground and looked up at me curiously. "If it's so dangerous, why keep living there?"

"Because it is so beautiful… During a storm, even, there is a kind of eerie wonder in it all. And when there are not storms, oh: it is so … _real_, and, and _earthy_. It's the kind of beauty that makes you glad to be alive." I smiled rather dreamily. "You know?"

"I do," he replied earnestly. "The Shire—where I come from—is much calmer, I think. There's no vast rolling plains. Yours sound kind of … wild."

I laughed and sat down next to him on the greenery. (It was far too short to deserve the name _grass_.) "Yes, wild is the perfect word!"

"Aye. And home, –well, the Shire, I mean, it's more sedate. We take our time about things. But we have that same kind of earthy beauty there, just gentler. We farm, too; I've seen some golden fields of wheat myself. I would like to see yours, though. Probably much larger than at home." He smiled at the thought. "There's lots of trees at home. Green… all around, on the sides and above, with the green leaves and all. Do you have many trees?"

"Not in Westfold, no. Remember in Harrowdale—the valley at Dunharrow?" He nodded. "I only had seen that many trees together once before, when my brother and I and some of our friends went on a trip to the mountains… I'm used to openness. At home you can see all the way to the horizon line, and above the sky… Westfold especially, with the mountains and all, is sometimes called 'big sky country' because you can see so much of it."

"I would like to go see your home someday," Merry smiled. Then his face lost some of its merriment, and he said, "But don't promise." At my questioning look he admitted, "Théoden—Théoden King—he promised me that we would smoke some pipeweed together, after it was all over…"

I swallowed hard. "Then I will not promise. But I would not have been able to promise you anyway, for my village still needs much rebuilding…"

Merry waited quietly for me to go on.

"When Saruman—when Saruman's forces marched on the Hornburg, they went right through my home… my village, Alricsloft. Destroyed it. Well, almost. We're rebuilding—or were, before we had to come here to fight the war. I don't know how long it's going to take, if …"

There was a still moment.

"I don't know what's happening back home," Merry said abruptly. "Have no idea… haven't known anything since we set out last fall, to Rivendell we thought; to Rivendell and then home again. And now…"

Last fall… "Last fall was when I first met Théodred," I mused aloud, mostly to turn the subject. "I didn't really like him then."

Merry looked at me, troubles momentarily forgotten. "Really? Why? How could you not like him?" He grinned widely at me. "I mean, you like him _now_…"

My cheeks flamed, and I decided to change the subject again.

* * *

I had thought it might be a good idea for us all to eat supper downstairs with the men, but Éowyn refused to go in what to me seemed the most callous of tones, bland and unfeeling.

"You're their princess! They look up to you!" I finally exploded. "Why won't you go?"

She turned to me with a look far blacker than any I'd yet seen from her. "They _don't_ look up to me! They will never look up to me again! I failed; I betrayed my own people._You know nothing about me!_ If they knew all, I could never return home to the Riddermark…"

And then, just as swiftly, the anguish was gone, the emotion was gone, and she had closed herself off from the world once again. _How long is she going to keep doing this?_ I wondered uneasily. I knew from experience that a person couldn't keep everything bottled up inside for ever. Sooner or later, the pressure would become too great, and then all would come spilling out helter-skelter no matter the consequences. Worse, keeping in emotions meant that one couldn't ever get over them. As long as Éowyn kept herself cold and detached, she would never heal.

I suddenly felt more helpless and alone than ever before.

* * *

A/N: I've based the Riddermark's plains on the American plains of the Midwest and West, partly because, as an American, it's what I know, and also because that's how I always imagined Rohan, with the rolling waves of grass and all. ("Big sky country" is the nickname for Montana, which has lots of open grassland as well as mountains, kind of like Westfold.) I know there's no word in Old English for tornado, but I'm pretty sure the Anglo-Saxons didn't have a lot of words that one would need to live on the prairie, seeing as they didn't.

Also, a few reviewers (O ye lovely people) have implied that Éowyn sounds kind of whining and selfish. If so, my bad, guys; although I haven't portrayed much because of the inherent limitations of first-person narration, Éowyn has gone through a lot of pain and suffering, perhaps more so than any other character besides Faramir. Watching her uncle and protector fade and fall under the spell of a creepy lech; having one's whole existence become life in the shadows; always being confined to stay at home with threatening Wormtongue, unable to ride out with the men and escape a tortuous home; regaining hope only to lose it again over and over... Little wonder that she rides to Gondor! It's amazing, I think, that she keeps it together for so long. And even when she finally rides out for death, she never loses her self-control but instead wishes to go out in a blaze of glory and heroism. ... You can kinda tell she's one of my favorite characters, huh?

Well, that's all for now. As always, thanks for actually taking the time to read this story.


	25. Bathrooms and Small Talk

Disclaimer: I own the non-canonical characters and this exceedingly non-canonical plotline. This is, unfortunately, not for any sort of financial gain.

A/N: This chapter contains some reference to basic human bodily functions. If you are overly squeamish at the thought of going to the bathroom, this isn't the story for you.

* * *

The healer was not as bright as she had been yesterday, and even when I smiled up at her the response was but half-hearted and faded swiftly. The weather was fair and the sun shone clear, but there was no merriment to be found. I found myself checking my laughter and speaking more softly than usual. I don't like quiet, and it disturbed me that even I felt this urge to hush and stay still, listening to the pregnant silence. As if being quiet was going to make the waiting easier.

Éowyn was eating properly now, which would have reassured me more if she looked like she actually knew what she was doing. After breakfast was over, I gathered up the tray to bring it back down to the kitchens, and Éowyn picked up a gown much more regal than the others I'd yet seen. I looked at her questioningly, but she ignored me and instead asked the servant who'd been assigned to us to help her dress. I decided to let it go and headed off down the hall, notwithstanding the healer's lies that 'she could definitely carry two trays at once, and I ought not to trouble myself with such a menial task, not when the princess needed tending to and I myself was still healing…'

The kitchens were the place most like home that I'd yet seen, loud and bustling and full of life. I'd missed this, I realized; upstairs everyone was so proper and demure, always asking how I felt and what I wanted, never speaking their minds fully. Downstairs, though, polite diplomacy and decorum went out the window. The head cook bustled about, tasting and testing and shouting out orders, while servants hurried across the room or focused on their preparations intently, talking all the while.

The tray was whisked promptly from my hands and delivered to a different set of servants who all looked at me oddly. Here, too, I stuck out like a sore thumb. The Gondorians seemed to be a tall lot, much like in the Riddermark, but they had darker hair and tended to be leaner and rangier. All the girls' heads were covered, and their clothes were all the uniform brown of the healers. I was wearing, same as yesterday, the only dress I'd packed, a long maroon tunic with slits in the sides for riding; and my hair, uncovered by anything, looked more golden than ever before. It reminded me of when I'd been with the Dunlendings and realized for the first time how Rohirric I looked and was.

Once I'd been relieved of the tray, the healer hurriedly guided me back upstairs. "We usually don't take on servant work, my lady," she explained, "but what with the war and all, we lost a lot of our servant girls who went off south to stay with relatives. – Do you mind if I leave you here? I must check on the patients down the hall," she apologized.

"Oh, no, it's fine," I said. "I don't mind at all." She wavered, still looking apologetic, until I said, "Really, go ahead," whereupon she bobbed a curtsey and hurried off.

I wandered in the opposite direction for a little while looking around. I hadn't yet seen this wing of the Houses of Healing. It seemed to be more administrative. Here was a storeroom, there a janitor's closet, and there, a few doors down, I caught a glimpse of a desk piled high with papers.

A man in the brown robes of the healers with white trim hurried out looking flustered and worried. Behind him came—I frowned—Éowyn, sweeping along in a proud manner, her too-bright eyes and white face the only indication that all was not as it seemed.

What did Éowyn want?

I wanted to follow, to listen and find out exactly what Éowyn was up to. But I was also growing rather tired of always following her, of always checking to make sure she was okay. _She's a grown woman,_ I told myself._ I can trust her to take care of herself. Right?_

So I left it to her. If she wanted to make a fool of herself, it was her own business, not mine. (Not that this would happen, I reasoned with myself.) I was not going to interfere. Not this time.

* * *

I got back to the room about noon only to find that the door was locked. This was a problem; I had to pee. My mood could only get darker.

I banged on the door. "Éowyn, open up!"

Silence.

I scowled and banged harder. "Seriously! I don't know what's up, but this isn't funny! Open the door!"

"No!" shot right back along with something that, had I actually listened, might possibly have been a sob.

"Why not? What possible reason can you have to not let me into the room that we SHARE?" I hopped around in a little need-to-pee circle and hoped no one was going to pass by.

"I just can't. I need some time to myself. Surely you can understand?"

"Not right now, I can't," I growled, ignoring the fact that this was the most she'd said to me in quite some time. "Dammit, Éowyn, I need to use the chamberpot, okay? So just get off your high horse and LET ME IN!"

There was a long awkward pause.

"Fine." She scrabbled at the door, taking an inordinate amount of time (I thought) to slide the bolt back. The door swung open and I rushed inside to the anteroom with the toilet.

I was just washing my hands when Éowyn asked from the other room, "Can you leave now?"

My hackles rose. "Hey! I'm still taking care of sanitary business in here!"

"I'm sorry." She didn't sound very contrite to me. "But when you're done, could—"

I dried my hands and marched out. "I get it! You don't want me here like usual; fine! So you don't have to keep telling me over and over again like an unruly child about to throw a tantrum!"

She whirled around from the window, her mouth open and cheeks flushed. "I'm like a _child_? throwing a _temper tantrum?_"

I reached the door and yanked it open. I needed to get out of there before I said something I would really regret.

Éowyn caught my arm with a death-grip—I'd forgotten how strong she was—and pulled me back into the room to face her. She drew herself to her full height and glared down at me as if expecting me to grovel and apologize. I was having none of _that_.

"Well, now that you mention it, there are some similarities," I hissed. "You won't talk to anyone; you constantly give me death-glares; you keep whining about how no one's paying you any attention even though they're doing IMPORTANT stuff like, I don't know, FIGHTING A WAR?"

"How dare you!" Her mouth trembled. "You know NOTHING about me!"

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I _don't_ know anything. But if that's so, it's because YOU won't _tell_ me. You won't tell anyone anything! even though that's the only way you'll ever heal and get out of this place like you want to!"

"I don't _want_ to heal!" she cried desperately, and then we both stared at each other as we realized what exactly she'd just said.

Éowyn blinked once, twice, three times; and then she collapsed in frantic sobbing.

* * *

We were wiping her face off with some damp rags when someone knocked at the door. Éowyn half rose and then sank again, looking suddenly nervous.

"I'll get it," I announced rather unnecessarily, and I pulled the door open.

A servant in city livery was waiting. "I've come to help you move to your new room, my lady."

"What?" I looked at Éowyn, whose face had turned an embarrassed shade of deep pink, and back to the servant. "Uh, that's nice," I managed weakly. "Who sent you?"

"The Steward, my lady," he replied, bowing deeply. "Just as her Highness desired."

_Her high—what?_ "I thank you kindly. Could you wait a moment while we, uh, get our personals ready?"

"As you wish, milady," and he bowed his way into the hallway.

I shut the door.

"What was that? You requested a room change? When was this?"

Éowyn wouldn't meet my gaze. "Not exactly. And it was this morning…"

I waited.

"Please, Saffi… I don't think I'm ready just yet. Just go with it?" There was a definite note of pleading.

"All right," I sighed. "But you will tell me?"

She swallowed. "I will. I promise."

* * *

Our new room was on the other side of the Houses of Healing. It, too had a wide window, but this one faced East. Éowyn let out a little gasp when she realized this and turned even pinker. It was the most color in her face that I'd ever seen. What on Arda had happened this morning?

After we'd settled in and dismissed the servant, Éowyn sat in the nearest chair—which, I noticed, wasn't facing the window—and abruptly blurted out, "He looked at me as if I were a child, too."

"Who?" I was startled. She was volunteering to talk. _Is she feeling okay?_

Her cheeks reddened again. "The Steward. – And I … I am not being childish, am I?"

"I couldn't say."

"You think I am."

"Not—not exactly. It would be easy to dismiss your actions as childish, but I don't think… I don't know enough to judge. – Speaking of being childish, I'm sorry about what I said. It was uncalled for. I shouldn't have been so mean, Éowyn."

She smiled slightly. "It's fine, Saffi. – So, do you like the new wall mosaic?" and gestured at the room vaguely.

She was making small talk. She was _actually trying to hold a conversation._

* * *

The next morning Éowyn ate breakfast like a normal person and said that she would be out in the garden if I needed her. I watched her go and wondered. Then I asked the healer, who had been a little later in coming than usual because of the room change, what she could tell me about the Steward.

"The Steward…?" Her face darkened. "He died—oh, you must mean Lord Faramir. Yes, he is Steward now, isn't he? Lord Faramir is here in the Houses of Healing… He's got that gaze that can see right into you, as if he knows all your darkest secrets, just like his father did before; but Lord Faramir's very kind…"

"So Lord Faramir is a good man."

"Yes! Yes, of course! He stayed with our boys in Osgiliath to the very last. He always struck me as more a scholar when he was growing up—he's about ten years younger than me, and of course I paid attention to the Steward's sons. We all did, to see what glimpses that we could, what they were like… you know."

She started gathering up the breakfast things. "Now, as for appearance… Well, he's tall, like an Elf, some say; the wizard, when he came by, said he had the blood of Numenor running in him strong. He looks like his father—you never saw Lord Denethor, though, did you? Hmm... let me see. – He has raven hair, just to his shoulders like most of the soldiers, and these commanding gray eyes…"

She looked out the window at the sun's height, and her eyes widened. "Goodness! I must have lost track of the time, babbing on so. What you must think of me..."she trailed off, shaking her head all the while. I must be going now, my lady. Please excuse me." She made ready to bob her way out.

"Wait," I said impulsively. "My name is Saffi."

Her eyes flickered down and then truly met mine for the first time. "Thank you, Lady Saffi. My name is Anariel." Then she hurried away as if half-afraid of her own daring.

* * *

Mistress Anariel returned about midmorning with the Warden, who officially excused me from the Houses of Healing (although, of course, I was allowed to stay). As soon as they had left I pulled on my grungy boots that I'd worn in battle (I had cleaned them the day before) and went at last out into the city. A healer quickly reminded me that I was to return by sundown, a restriction I found rather unnecessary, seeing as since I had no money for food or shelter, it wasn't like I had anywhere else to go.

I went out and headed straight down the street. There are seven levels to Minas Tirith, with the topmost level reserved for the ruler, Steward, and high government places. The courts spill onto the sixth level, where the richest of the rich live, and where the Houses of Healing are located. The higher the rank, the higher the level.

I decided to go down to where the more normal people lived.

But the lower levels were practically deserted. The levels below had been overrun, or nearly so, so the walls were torn and gaping, and as I went down, more and more I had to wend my way carefully through the wreckage. There weren't any bodies, though, so I assumed cleanup crews had already come through at least once.

I went up and over a particularly large piece of rubble and paused at the top to look out. The hole in the wall across the way gave a spectacular view to the Pelennor fields. They looked as though they had probably been farms and pastureland before the battle. Now the lands lay bare and burnt, all life trampled deep into the dirt and then drowned in blood and death. Even if we through some miracle won the war, how would we get through the famine? Much of the Isen was spoilt by Saruman, so there would be no fish or riverlife, and we'd lost for good the first planting in Westfold. As for the Wold… I wasn't sure if we'd get _any_ crops out of it, not with all those orcs pillaging and ruining. So where would the food come from? I didn't know Gondorian geography very well. Did it have other farmland? Would it be enough to feed all of Gondor? Would there be (I scarcely dared even think the word) _surplus_?

* * *

Éowyn came in for lunch looking almost animated. She ate properly, and we actually had a functioning conversation. It was amazing. I asked her to come downstairs and eat lunch with the other Eorlingas tomorrow, and she actually said she would consider it. Now I was really curious. What was there (or rather, _who_) that was having such a great influence over her? For it was clear to me, if not to her, that she was finally starting to heal at last.


	26. Of Crutches and Cultures

Disclaimer: As always, the only thing I own is this plotline and all those characters not to be found anywhere but here (i.e. mine, not Tolkien's). The names are (mostly) legitimate, since I found most of them on some site with Old English documents containing them.

Also, the hobbit drinking song is taken from Fellowship of the Ring: A Short Cut to Mushrooms. That's right; Tolkien actually wrote out part of a hobbit drinking song.

* * *

Théoden.

Grimbold.

Éma.

Aldhelm.

Peada.

Immin.

Caedmon.

Badric.

Eofor.

Osric.

Alcwyn.

Brihtric.

Rynis.

…

They had finally compiled a list of the dead, and—no, that is not fair. The list of the dead had come out four days ago, the day the Armies of the West had departed. Elfhelm and his portion of the army had finished compiling the list and then set off west for home, for Dunharrow and the Wold. I had not read the list that day, or the next day, or the next and the next. But at last, there was no putting it off any longer, and I gritted my teeth and read it all, each and every name. I read the entire list of the dead. It seemed disrespectful not to. Eofor, Osric, Immin, even, might not have killed thirty Southrons with one stroke, but they all had surely had had families, friends, perhaps a farm. Definitely a horse or two. Each had lived, and each had died serving his king.

And I was doing okay so far. Everyone had known about Théoden King; I'd already wept for Grimbold and Rynis; and most of these people were still but names to me, however much I might imagine about their past lives. But then I would come across something vaguely familiar, a name I'd heard a lot of recently while on the journey, and a chill would run down my spine, though I couldn't place a face with the name. And then once every fifty names or so there would be one that was all too familiar, like Brihtric. Brihtric had been in Colm's company. We'd ate Warg together. And I would feel incredibly weepy for a moment before recollecting what I was supposed to be doing.

* * *

I wanted Théodred.

* * *

Éowyn found me in our room curled up on the chair by the open window and staring out blankly. I gave my cheeks another ineffectual swipe to be rid of the tears that had somehow gotten there, and she came over awkwardly.

"Saffi, are you all right?"

I sniffed. "Well, what does it look like?"

"Like you're at my cousin's wedding to another woman."

I couldn't keep myself from stiffening at the horrible thought and barely managed to force out, "That bad, huh?"

She eyed me curiously. "Quite." She sat down next to me and stared out over the rooftops. "Do you ever not want to talk about something so badly that you feel you must? and then, when you've finally realized this, you can't tell anyone?"

I opened my mouth to say no, I'd never really had this problem.

(_Your mother would be so ashamed.)_

"Yes."

She drew her breath in slightly and sat down on the edge of the bed nearest. "I… you know something of, of my uncle's … adviser…"

I nodded.

"Faramir—the Steward—I think.… Oh, my. I could tell him. I really could. Except… Do you know, he's the first man outside of my family who I feel I could trust, really trust…"

"What about Aragorn?" I clapped my hand over my mouth guiltily. I hadn't meant to say _that_ aloud.

Her cheeks flushed. "I… well, of course I can trust him. But I feel as though Faramir wouldn't just feel sorry if I told him all; he would—_understand_. You know?"

I did.

"But…" She shook her head and sighed. "It matters not." That hint of despair was back—_had it ever really left?_—and I could not summon the cheer to counter it. Instead we just sat together for a space in comfortable silence.

* * *

Éowyn went out in the gardens about an hour before noon, so I took Merry with me to see the others. The big windows at the end of the hall had been thrown wide open to let in sweet-smelling air. I wondered at the quality of the air but was soon caught up in conversation with two warriors who were just starting to hobble around with the help of wooden crutches. Those up longer—all five of them, five out of the one hundred housed here—were having crutch races, to the great amusement of the others all still abed (some of whom were taking bets) and the even greater distress of the healers. So far Ælgar was winning the most, ahead of the others by a good three races.

Merry immediately joined in the betting pool, promising a "good hobbit drinking song" as his wager, while I drifted down to the other end of the hall, where these two were practicing walking and turning. They immediately bowed when I approached. I instinctively checked behind me.

"My lady, surely you must be accustomed to being treated with the proper respect," protested Eadric.

I grimaced. "I have only been 'lady' for a short time now, and it is quite disconcerting. – I'm from a small village in Westfold, not some grand House or hall."

"But Captain Éothain calls you Lady," added Leofsige. He eyed me speculatively. "As did the prince—I mean," he grimaced, "his Majesty. Back at Harrowdale."

I murmured a polite "Oh?" in response. My cheeks didn't flame, not any more. It was getting harder to be embarrassed about loving, and being loved, by someone so wonderful.

Eadric was looking downward out and the nearest window and suddenly moved closer, the swift movement of someone used to watching for danger and death. Leofsige and I, having had the same reflex with Eadric's quick movement, registered that _he_ was not to be watched and moved beside him.

The gardens were directly below—that must have been why the breeze was so fresh and green-smelling—and also there, walking slowly, heads bent together, were Éowyn and a tall, dark-haired man who looked vaguely familiar.

"Is that the Steward, then?" I asked blandly.

"Aye, my lady," Leofsige replied in the same tone. "He comes by every evening to see us, even though he has many other duties as well. He is a good man."

"To listen to the Healers, he's something of a god on earth," Eadric remarked drily. "But yes, he is a good man."

"That's _good_," I said and leaned forward on the windowsill to see better. Their heads were bent close, and once in a while I could catch a soft bit of comfortable voices.

I would have stayed longer—the two made a nice picture—but a shout from the other end of the hall caught my attention. I twisted round to see Godric tumble down on top of Ælgar just abreast of the last two beds, the designated finish line. It seemed Godric had stuck out his crutch to trip Ælgar only to then himself trip right over his fallen comrade. Asgeir took the initiative and somehow swept over them both to come in a clear first. Éothain stepped in, chuckling, to help up the fallen pair before tempers could flare, whereupon a group turned on Merry to pay up.

He strode to the center of the floor boldly and began a peppy tune. It was definitely a drinking song, all right:

_Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go_

_To heal my heart and drown my woe._

_Rain may fall and wind may blow,_

_And many miles be still to go,_

_But under a tall tree I will lie,_

_And let the clouds go sailing by._

We were right in the swing of things—Merry had somehow convinced the Riders to sing along at the chorus, the results of which, seeing as no one besides he knew the words, sounded like the chorus of a roomful of drunken sods—when Éowyn walked in on the arm of the Steward. She stopped in her tracks and paled very slightly—or rather, her usual pallor returned. Then the Steward murmured something in her ear, and she smiled, and her face once again held more color than I'd yet seen. I started making my way towards her as we all bellowed out another chorus.

_Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go_

_To heal my heart and drown my woe._

_Rain may fall and wind may blow,_

_And many miles be still to go,_

_But under a tall tree I will lie,_

_And let the clouds go sailing by._

This time, the Steward joined in. He had a pretty good voice; not as good as Théodred's deep baritone—although, given my bias, I wasn't exactly fit to judge. Éowyn gasped at this and stared at him. She clearly hadn't expected such a "good man" to partake in a rowdy drinking song. I grinned. This alone (well, along with Éowyn's ever-improving health) made me inclined to like this man. _And why does he look so familiar?_

With a rousing drunken flourish, the song ended amidst lusty cheering. The healers looked somewhat aghast but resigned, as though they were starting to get used to us carousing Eorlingas. I spotted Anariel a few yards over. Éowyn seemed to be in good hands, so I kept moving.

"Mistress Anariel, good day to you!" (My Westron was improving vastly. Apparently the best way to learn a foreign language was to be forced to speak it constantly.)

She gave a shaky smile that didn't quite reach all the way to her eyes and inclined her head rather stiffly. "My lady."

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Oh, nothing, nothing at all, my lady."

That was the second time she'd said that. Something _was_ wrong.

"Come with me, mistress," I said, and tucked my hand behind her elbow before she could say no. We went out of the hall and into the supply room next door.

I shut the door firmly. "Have I done something to displease you, madam? Because I cannot fix the problem if I do not know what it is."

She wavered for a moment, but then her mouth pursed once again. "You have committed me no wrong, my lady."

I frowned at the wording. "But you think I have done something unconsciously."

"No—well, not exact—I mean—"

"What is it?" I held her gaze sharply. "In the Riddermark—Rohan—we value complete honesty above all."

"Oh, in _Rohan_…" Her lip almost curled in derision. I looked down; her hands were trembling. I was starting to have an idea of what was bothering her.

I decided to see if my suspicion was correct. "Did you like the drinking song? And the races were great fun, too."

That did it. She openly glared at me. "How can you? We're in the midst of a war—our families might be East dying right now, and you all are just … _carousing_! How—" She stopped and gulped for air. I blinked. How had I not seen this coming? "My lady, I do apologize for speaking so—"

I interrupted her. "Anariel, I'm sorry if we've made you uncomfortable. But back home, we make it a rule to be merry even in the worst of times, especially if there is naught to be done for it."

She stared at me uncomprehendingly. "Make merry in times of sorrow?"

I smiled. "You think me heartless, no doubt."

"No. Of course not. Not _you_, Lady Saffi."

_How to put this?_ I walked a circle, trying to articulate my thoughts. Then I stopped and looked at her, really looked—at the circles under her eyes, her nervous stance; and remembered the way she'd been acting, and the fact that even with all the wounded present, she still ought to have had plenty more time to rest than was evidently being used. Not to mention the fact that she'd used the inclusive _our_.

"May I be blunt? – Here in Gondor, you worry. You sit in your tall towers and stare out so as to keep the fear at bay. We have no tall towers. We cannot keep a constant watch on the Enemy. So instead we make it a goal to enjoy each moment so that, if we must die by him, we shall not have died without some joy in our lives. It is our way. Gondorians grit their teeth and stand even taller in the face of death; Rohirrim just laugh."

Comprehension was beginning to dawn in her eyes. I went on, "Anariel, do not think us unfeeling because we chose to spend what may be our last days in frolic. These men, because of their injuries, will never be able to return as army-men—that which they have identified with, and with which they have identified themselves, for much of their lives. If they are able to make cheer in such dark times, it ought to be understood as the most wondrous thing, that they are recovering, that they have not succumbed to their illness. It is their way—our culture's way—of pushing back the fear and the pain, if only for a little while." I put my hand on the side of her arm gently. "Do you understand a little better now?"

"Yes, lady." She looked embarrassed. "I – I am sorry for acting so, truly I am."

I shrugged. "You didn't know. And I understand that it does look rather odd to anyone who hasn't grown up with it. No offense taken, none at all." I grinned at her and stepped back. "All right?"

"Quite, Lady Saffi." She smiled back, and this time it was real. "Shall we return?"

* * *

That night I went to bed early, but I couldn't sleep. Her words kept reverberating in my mind for some reason. Were we really so callous as she'd thought us? And was our way really any better than the Gondorians'? At least they faced their fears. We just pretended they didn't exist.

I also couldn't help but cringe at my own heavy-handedness. The sharpness had been the only way to draw her out—I knew that; I _knew _that—but it had also been…

Honestly, it had been mean.

Maybe I could have been kinder about it; but I'd felt so personally insulted, and distressed, that she couldn't see through the façade of over-exuberance—distressed, because I had, for some inexplicable reason, expected different from her—that I had barely been able to keep myself from exploding. So instead I had gone sharp and imperious and practically forced her to tell her worries the way one needs a sharp, decisive needle jab to lance a boil.

But I had not been kind. For a moment, I had forgotten myself.

What was I becoming? Was it all this "my lady" jabber? Had the strange elevation of station gone to my head? Was I (I shivered at the thought) becoming one of those people who, upon being suddenly advanced, took airs and delighted in wielding their authority over others?

And if this was happening to me, how would I even tell? _I need to find out_, I panicked; _I need to know if_—

"Saffi?" The door opened softly. Éowyn was back from her evening stroll in the gardens. "Oh… Are you awake?" she whispered.

I sat up slowly. "Yes."

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to wake you!"

"No, no." I shook my head. "I haven't been able to go to sleep."

And then I spilled it all out, repeating word for word my conversation with Anariel.

"Am I changing? Am I really becoming so callous? What if—"

"Saffi, Saffi," Éowyn laughed. "Stop panicking."

I stared at her. "How? I mean, why should I?"

"Yes, you're changing. That's life. And you're not being mean. _I_ would have been mean. I think you handled it well."

"Really?"

"Saffi, you've seen the way she's been. Oh, I'm sure she's a very nice person, but honestly, I don't know how you've put up with her. That woman is…" She grimaced.

"She's worried for her family. I think both her husband and her son—one, if not more—are East."

"Saffi, we're all worried! She's not the only one here with a family in the army!" She bit her lip and then went on. "I think she's just not a good worrier—or she's been worn down by all the battles over the years—Gondor's been fighting this since before either of us was born, Saffi. For her, it's probably both. So any attempts to have her let out feelings just make her act defensively. Soft mollycoddling would have got you nowhere."

"Thanks. I guess."

She rolled her eyes at me in a gesture oddly reminiscent of Elise. "Stop worrying, Saffi. You're still a nice person. The only change… You're more assertive, I think. And that's good. You can't let people walk all over you, and you're not."

"Thanks, Éowyn."

She smiled. "Don't mention it. – It's only fair, after all that you've done for me. Ironic, isn't it? Just a few days ago we were in the exact opposite position, me freaking out and you trying to comfort me."

I grinned. "I'm glad you're getting better."

"As am I. Thank goodness for you and Faramir. – Oh, speaking of which, he says he's met you already."

"Really?"

"He said you had a, humm, how did he put it? 'A very informative conversation on a colleague.'"

_Colleague? But I—Oh. OH. The healer—it was _him_; that's why he looks so familiar. And colleague?_ I grinned. I liked this man. He and Éowyn would do very well together, indeed. And if I'd helped make that happen, so much the better.

"What's got you grinning over there?"

I grinned even more broadly, much to her annoyance. "Oh, nothing." I yawned. "When you want to introduce your Steward to the family, I'll definitely vouch for him."

"Thanks, Sa—_What?_ Vouch… Wait, he's not _my_…" But I'd already rolled over in the bed like I was asleep, and I didn't need to look at her to tell that Éowyn's cheeks were burning right red and that she was wearing a ridiculous smile, half embarrassment and half hope.


	27. Dread and Great Grief

Disclaimer: If it looks like it belongs to Tolkien, it probably does.

* * *

_Over the city of Gondor doubt and great dread had hung. Fair weather and clear sun had seemed but a mockery to men whose days held little hope, and who looked each morning for news of doom. Their lord was dead and burned, dead lay the King of Rohan in their citadel, and the new king that had come to them in the night was gone again to a war with powers too dark and terrible for any might or valour to conquer. And no news came._

-ROTK, The Steward and the King

* * *

No news. Again. But it was only to be expected, or so I thought. After all, why would they bother sending a messenger all the way back to Minas Tirith just to tell us they hadn't been chopped to bits yet? Especially since, looking at the maps, it was hard to believe that they would reach the Black Gate any faster than in six days. So, if they had been traveling at maximum speed (which they probably wouldn't) they'd be arriving—I did some quick mental calculations, mainly involving me counting off on my fingers—

today.

I sucked in my breath sharply, which caused the old record keeper to glance over at me worriedly. I smiled weakly. Apparently this was acceptable, for he went back to whatever he'd been doing behind that big desk all morning.

I was in one of the Halls of Records, this one on the fourth level. After listening to the healers discuss the lack of news seemingly endlessly, I finally couldn't take it any longer. Bad enough that the fair weather and clear sun seemed but a mockery to those whose days held little hope. But to keep harping on the fact... Sometimes Gondorians just didn't make any sense to me, at least not these ones.

So I'd marched off through the city to find a good map of Western Arda. The mood was strange out here; people were rebuilding, but not with any gusto. They were just working because there was nothing else to do.

The other weird part was that, aside from the majority of the healers and serving people in the Houses of Healing, there was a visible scarcity of women in the city. I hadn't seen another woman once while coming here, and given my circuitous path, I'd seen a whole lot of this city level. And not one woman.

Besides me, of course.

That had also prompted something else odd, now that I thought about it. Whenever I passed by, men would pause and watch me. Granted, part of it was that I was one of those barbaric Northerners; but still... And even the soldiers on duty had given me strange looks when I'd asked the way to the Hall of Records (having been vaguely directed here by Anariel). Were they really all that starved for female company?

I turned my attention back to the parchment before me. It was a very good map, actually. I wouldn't mind owning it myself. But since this appeared to be a very permanent fixture of the collection here (given the record-keeper's glare every time I so much as breathed over it), I'd have to settle with getting a copy someday.

My work here was done, but I didn't want to go back any time soon. In fact, now that I thought about it, my announced reason for coming here had been pretty flimsy. I'd really just wanted to get out. Not because I'd been cooped up, but because I had been feeling increasingly cut off.

The only problem was that getting out into the city had made the feeling worse, not better. I understood now that the isolation was city-wide, experienced by everyone who still lived here. (Or rather, tried to live here.) And why?

Because there was no news. Again.

* * *

The weather was excellent. Again. It had been fair and clear ever since the day the Armies had departed. This had been a welcome thought the first few days—that at least our men wouldn't be slogging through rain and mud—but now it seemed but a mockery. It was hard to hold on to hope when one thought about the odds of success (which were little more than nil), so I didn't think about it. But in some ways the Gondorians were having a tougher time of it. They had been living under the Shadow for some time now, and they'd had a moment of blazing hope when Aragorn had showed, only for it to fade away in the distance along with their friends and relatives in the army.

I left the stony Hall of Records and wandered around in a vaguely upward direction until, through some accident of luck, I found the stairs up to the wall on the fifth level. Up here, the wall was largely intact, and soldiers in the White Tree of Gondor still kept watch without having to dodge gaping holes.

By the time I reached the top of the wall, my breath was shorter than usual. I frowned. Sitting around doing nothing in the Houses of Healing for over a week now was not beneficial to staying in shape. I needed to start training again.

The view up here was beautiful. I could see out far, far over the Pelennor Fields east and south, which still lay brown and wasted, and far west and north to the Road that led home. _Home._ But where was home, really? Alricsloft was rebuilding, but it would never be the place I remembered. And after all I'd seen and done, the contained, unvarying existence that it offered me was—well, boring. I knew a lot of people, my brother included, who were perfectly content to stay in one place all their lives to farm, raise a family, grow old... And I respected that, but I couldn't do it myself. Maybe, before the war, I might have reconciled myself to such an existence, partly because I knew nothing else. But now?

"Excuse me, miss?"

I straightened hurriedly. "Yes?"

The soldier looked young, not many years older than me, if in fact he was older. He also looked as though he'd only recently been let out of the Houses of Healing. (So he knew something of war, too.) "Civilians are asked to stay off the walls, ma'am."

Ah. "I do apologize, sir," and I gave him a small curtsy. These were improving, too. "I'll be going, then."

One last look at the fields below, and I was done. I went back down onto the sheltered street. The sun's clear glare reflected off the white stone of walls and City buildings, forcing me to shade my eyes. Where to?

I looked up at the cloudless sky and shivered. It was bright blue, the same color as Théodred's eyes. What would he have me do?

He would have me take care of our own.

I set off back to the Houses of Healing and couldn't help but think that at least it wasn't raining. Maybe it was a blessing, a sign of hope. Or it was just the calm before the storm. I scowled.

The weather just had to be excellent. Again.

* * *

I got back just around noon, my stomach growling with hunger. I was more out of shape than I'd thought, if a simple walk through the level had whetted my appetite so. I really need to start training again. Merry awaited me at the front entrance, munching a pasty. I looked at him questioningly.

"It's still a whole hour 'til lunch!" he protested.

I grinned. "I wasn't wondering about that, though now that you mention it... But really, I was actually wondering why you're here. I mean, Éowyn's already ditched us both in favor of that Man, but surely the Riders haven't kicked you out." _They better not have kicked him out..._

But he was already shaking his head before I'd finished speaking. "No, no... I just— I overheard Lord Faramir say that Théoden King lies in the Citadel."

"Really? – Actually, that makes sense; I don't know where else they'd put the body."

Even as I said this, I wondered at the sense of disconnect that had suddenly risen up between my mouth and my feelings. But I couldn't acknowledge those feelings, for doing so would to open up the dam that I'd so carefully placed on my emotions. I hadn't shut myself off completely the way Éowyn had done not-so-long ago, but I wasn't entirely open, either. Then again, who was?

Perhaps Merry understood this, saw past the rather callous words and tone to the heartbreak they concealed—or perhaps he was too caught up in his own sorrow—for he didn't anger at what I'd said like I expected. Instead he nodded his agreement and said (after another bite of pasty) that perhaps we could go see him.

I peered at him sidelong, this halfling with the curls and height of a boy and the world-weary eyes of a man, and not a young man, either. "Would you like to go today?"

He took another bite and took his time chewing. "I guess so." He would not meet my eyes, and neither did I wish to meet his. Instead we stood in the entrance hall staring out the window while healers bustled all around.

"What about the funeral?"

"Funerals are big, and noisy, and full of people who expect you to let it all out and then move on as soon as it's over."

He was right. "How about now, then?"

Merry started. "Do you know where he's laid?"

"Nope. Let's go."

He looked up at me sternly. "You really mean to do this? Now?"

I got serious. "Aye, if you would." I had decided on a course, and I meant to stick to it, for good or for ill. (Also better to get this over with than give myself time to wonder at the propriety of me privately visiting the corpse of a man I'd never really known, however much I might have wished it.)

"I would." And he set off determinedly without waiting to see if I'd changed my mind or not.

* * *

We were a goodly way down the street before Merry looked anywhere but straight ahead. He walked fast, much faster than I'd expected, so that I'd almost been left behind at first. After that I'd stopped watching how quickly I walked and went at my usual pace.

"Do you know where we're going, Saffi?"

"Not at all. – Do you?"

He shook his head and slowed down. "I don't know. I don't—Saffi, this is crazy," he went on resignedly. "This is—"

"—something that needs be done," I finished for him. "Hallo!"

The carpenter I'd hailed turned to me warily. He looked to be only a few years older than Théodred, though it was hard to tell ages with these Gondorians. (Elise had told me once that they lived longer than we Eorlingas.) "What can I do for ye, milady?"

"Could you direct my friend and I to the Citadel?"

"Certainly, ma'am. See the corner down there, at the end? Take a right there, on the Street of Kings. That takes you to the Gate to the Seventh Level. Right through there you'll be on the Way. Take it to the end, and there's the Entrance to the Citadel."

I nodded. "Thank you so much, sir. My name is Saffi, Saffi Sorenna. I have naught to give you, but thank you all the same."

He smiled then, making him seem ten years younger. "And if you had something I would not take it. But you're welcome, Lady Sorenna." Then he returned to his work.

I turned back to Merry, and we set off.

* * *

We were just about to turn onto the Street of Kings (although it wasn't like there was any sign telling me its name) when something occurred to me.

"What about Éowyn?"

Merry stopped in the middle of the street. It wasn't really a problem; there just wasn't that much traffic in the city, not when doubt and great dread had us all in their grip. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I don't think it would be... good for her."

"Nor do I," I admitted. "But if I was in her place, I'd be hurt if my friends went without telling in order to shelter me. – For that's how I would see it."

"Then shall we go back?"

I took Merry's measure carefully, noted the way his hands were clenched, his posture, and that old, agéd look he had.

"No."

Éowyn and I would come another time, alone, just as Merry and I came now. (That was how it ought to be, and that is how it was.)

* * *

The Citadel was large and white and stony and reminded me somehow of a crypt, which was funny, seeing as I'd never actually seen a crypt. But, standing outside, I got that chill I always felt when we'd swapped stories as kids and the hero entered a crypt in search of some ancient treasure or whatnot. There wasn't an ounce of friendliness—as it should be, I decided. After all, it wasn't really a place for friendliness and triumphal celebration—or at least it hadn't been one for hundreds, maybe thousands of years.

Merry and I probably could have made it all the way inside without being interrupted. (Somehow I doubted this was the norm, but no one really seemed like they knew what they were supposed to be doing in such uncertain times anyway.) But I figured it would be better to ask the guards how to get to Théoden King's laying place.

Merry didn't come with me while I asked and received directions. He looked very still, and very white.

We went inside and took the numerous turnings like the guards had instructed. It was actually a beautiful place. I wondered what it would be like to live in such a cold, stony building where the paucity of gentle things was tangible. (Hopefully the living quarters had more cloth and less stone than here.) The tapestries once had been filled with rich colors, I could see, but they had not been tended to as they ought in a long time. The same held true for the mosaics on the floors and ceilings. There were brackets on the walls for torches—covered brackets that would have kept the smoke out of people's eyes—but the torches were not lit, nor had they been lit for some time, from the looks of things. It tore at my heart to see such splendor lie untended, even though I knew that Gondor could scarce afford to spend the time and effort on more trivial matters as these. Still, this was the seat of the country. It ought to look prettier than the rest.

And then, at the end of a long corridor, a servant stood upon seeing us. I informed him of our errand, and he nodded somberly and took us down another bewildering set of passages until we'd reached a cold room that was never meant for the living.

Théoden King lay stretched out on a great bier. He was still dressed in the clothes that he'd worn into battle, but they weren't bloody and mussed, so attendants must have removed them and cleaned them. His hair was combed back like he'd worn it in life, the few times I'd seen him, and his hands were clasped and folded over his chest. He looked calm, as though death had given him the deliverance from this world's confusion that he'd sought.

_Like Éowyn._ I shivered. I did not care to think about how close she'd come to being stretched out right next to our liege.

I didn't go up to him. It didn't feel right, not with me never even meeting him but once, and that without a proper introduction. And now he was gone, this man who, if we'd had time, I'd have hoped and prayed would someday become my father. – I think he would have been a good one.

Merry did not say a single word. He walked round the king slowly, reverently, once, twice, three times, maybe more, while I waited at the door, my eyes averted. So I'm not really sure what Merry said or did when, at the end of his third or fourth circuit, he stopped next to the King's head and drooped over the bier. It doesn't matter, not really. It was his moment, and his alone.

At last Merry straightened and came over to me. We went out the door and down the hall, and the servant led us back through the maze of corridors and passages to the great front doors we'd come in, silent the whole time, the only sounds the soft shuffle of my boots on stone.

We went back to the Houses of Healing, Merry's face no longer hard like the road. Instead it was a complete blank. No tears, no grief, no anger—nothing. We entered the Houses and a healer started to scold us—apparently we'd nearly missed the midday meal (I glanced at the sun in mute astonishment at the hour)—her voice angry and shrill, until I unleashed a stony glare on her. (She left quickly.)

Merry made as if to go back to his room, but I caught his arm and dragged him in the opposite direction, to the gardens. He didn't resist. Much. But he was so much lighter than me that, even if he had, it wouldn't have been much of a fight.

The gardens were greener than when I'd been here last, and the air was fresh and new, a welcome change from the stale air (the dead air) of the King's lying place. Merry's face was still a blank. I asked a healer to bring us lunch outside and sat just within earshot.

Then I stared very intently at some bushes. They weren't very deserving of my intent gaze.

The healer returned with two trays of food. I ate mine while still sitting somewhat apart from Merry, although I'd transferred my gaze to a tree that looked worthier.

"Saffi..."

"Yes?"

Merry's color had returned. I noted wryly that his tray was also considerably lighter than before.

"Thank you."

I nodded. There really wasn't anything to say. He wasn't ready to grieve. Not yet. But he was, perhaps, reconciled.

I didn't see him for the rest of the afternoon. But he appeared just outside my room after supper, and we watched the sun set together.

* * *

A/N: Well, that got a lot darker than I expected. Also not very much character development. Huh. I can't decide whether I like it or not (or rather, I'm only fond of it in a dark sort of way), so tell me what you think.


	28. Waiting

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Mostly. Well, I own the characters not to be found in Tolkien and this plot. And (most) of the words below, all the uncited ones.

* * *

I suppose I could say that nothing of worth happened the next day, but it wouldn't be the full truth. The men were all improving slowly but steadily, Merry was back to his old self, and Éowyn looked more alive than ever I'd seen her. So things _were _happening, just so gradually that it still felt as though we were all standing still, breath held without even knowing. And I didn't have the will to be as happy about all that _was_ happening (however slowly) as I ought. It was though some part of me just didn't care anymore.

Quite the opposite. I cared more than ever; I just felt close to being consumed by worry. I wanted to—

I didn't know what I wanted. I felt restless and driven, but to what I knew not. I wandered up and down the Houses of Healing, looking in on the men periodically, eating snacks with Merry, and trying to get lost in the gardens all around. I didn't feel like going out to the city. The stone was heavy.

Éowyn had lent me a scroll that she'd gotten from the Lord Faramir. It was about the history of Numenor, a long ago land that apparently the first lords of Gondor had descended from. My history was pretty shaky, but I supposed it was interesting if a person really cared about that sort of thing; and it served to take my mind off more current events, if only for a little while. Éowyn had been reading it in the mornings and evenings when she wasn't with the Steward. They spent much of the day together. I was glad for them and kept my distance.

* * *

I laid aside the scroll with some relief as Mistress Anariel entered with the evening meal, Merry hot on her heels. He grinned up at me. "She said I could eat with you. – Where's the princess?"

"Eating with the Steward," I said, unable to wipe the smirk off my face that came with such a statement. Merry smirked back in perfect understanding.

When I looked up, a similar smile was hovering on Anariel's lips as well. "Lord Faramir deserves much happiness after all that's happened," she explained cryptically.

"After what? I mean, I've heard (from you) that he fought at Osgiliath, but..." I didn't have to finish the sentence, that everyone was acting as though it had been something more than Osgiliath, something much more. And indeed, Merry was shooting me a sharp look right now. What was I missing?

Anariel, too, was eyeing me strangely. "Didn't you know, Lady Saffi? about his father? – No?"

I shook my head numbly. Suddenly I had a bad feeling about this. After all, from what I'd seen, Anariel could talk about _anything_.

"I don't—" Anariel bit her lip. "I don't know if it's my place to say. I—it _isn't_—wasn't—my place to say..."

Merry shifted in his seat. "I can tell, at least some of it. It was my cousin, Pippin, who—"

"Your cousin, was it, that halfling?" Anariel interrupted, curious. Putting off the telling. "He's a hero, just like you." Merry blushed lightly. "What did you say his name was?"

"Pip—" Merry reconsidered. "Peregrin Took."

Anariel smiled warmly. "I'll remember that name, Master Brandybuck."

I looked back and forth between them, exasperated. _Are they really going to keep talking circles around me?_

Merry caught the look on my face and sighed heavily. "All right, Saffi. ... Denethor—Faramir's father—he went—he tried to burn himself and Faramir, the last night of the siege, before we arrived."

I froze. "He _what_..."

Anariel looked wretched. I moved over on the bed to make room for her, but even still she paused for a moment. Then, seated next to me, she said quietly, "There was ever bad blood between father and son. Anyone living up here, so close, for so long, knows that. They say that in the end the Steward—Denethor, that was—he went mad, from the knowing. – He gave up hope—we all did, or very nearly," she added apologetically.

There was a still moment, and then she put her face in her hands and sobbed.

* * *

After a while, the tears subsided. I let go of her shoulders—somehow we'd come to that—and found to my dismay that my cheeks were wet, too, somehow. Merry had filled a plate but had not, with astonishing restraint, begun to eat. Instead he handed it to Anariel. She stared.

"It helps, sometimes, to get settled." He smiled gently. I stared. Then, realizing Anariel was looking at me for some reason, I nodded in affirmation of Merry's words. She ate.

"I'm sorry, Lady Saffi," Anariel said at last. "I should not have spoken so, not of the Lord Steward, and definitely not of the dead."

"I understand. – See you tomorrow morn," and I smiled a little sadly as she went off down the hall.

Merry was giving me a funny look when I turned back from the doorway. "What?" I demanded.

He shrugged and handed me a plate. "Saffi, I _know..._ But why aren't you eating yet?"

And I realized that this halfling, at least, did know. Others might (perhaps because of his, uh, _minor_ obsession with food), but I didn't think I could ever forget that he was older, and wiser, than I was.

* * *

The next morning I woke early and went out. It was cold, and a few distant stars were still visible through the pre-dawn grayness. I wrapped my cloak round me more tightly and kept walking.

A breeze kicked up, at first barely noticeable but growing stronger with the daylight. By the time I reached the third level, it had turned into a regular wind blowing strongly from the North.

There were still massive holes where the walls needed rebuilding. I went toward the edge but kept my distance. (Looking out was all well and good, but _down_ gave me the chills and made my head swim if I got too close.) The skies were still clear, but everything looked grey and drear.

East, the mountains, dark and glooming, the sky greyest and dreariest there. South, the fields, still brown, but a brown muted by the overwhelming grays. Things would grow there again, wouldn't they? I hoped so. The space looked so... so _wrong_ without even a speck of green.

The sun rose, but it was a red dawning, the sky a dark and terrible scarlet and the sun itself a small boiling disk the color of – ... But its color returned to the more normal yellow and then the daily burning white once the sun had crept higher and farther away from the East.

It felt nice to feel the sun's first warmth on my face. I'd never done this in Alricsloft, purposely sitting here and watching the sun rise, but maybe I'd do it again some time. In fact, I didn't know why exactly I'd done it here, either, only that it had been nice, and that I would like to do it again.

But not alone. Not without Thé—

I turned my head away from the thought. The sun had risen, and I knew I had better get back to the Houses of Healing before the healers went crazy over my absence.

_Hopefully Éowyn will explain it away_, I thought determinedly, and went back the way I'd come.

* * *

Down in the great hall where the men were staying, I found to my surprise that all hundred men were awake and had been so for quite some time. It seemed that I was not the only one who'd woken early with that strange impulse to go out.

The great windows overlooking the eastern gardens were thrown wide open even though the air was chill. Looking down, I could make out two figures standing at the far wall looking out. As I watched, Faramir motioned to someone I couldn't see and murmured something while Éowyn continued looking out intently. A few minutes later, the servant came running with a cloak that was somewhere between deepest blue and black. Faramir wrapped it round her tenderly, and I had to turn away, for it felt wrong to witness such a private moment.

Eadric and Éothain were standing nearby, just behind me, in fact, when I turned round. "Eadric, Éothain, well met," I said, and they bowed in unison. I glared. Both looked utterly unapologetic. Eadric even had the gall to grin swiftly before hiding it even more swiftly behind a large hand.

Éothain did not look so merry. He looked fierce, like usual, but also worried. "Is everything all right, so far...?" I asked.

He shot a baleful look at the wall near me before replying curtly, "Yes, Lady Saffi. Please do not upset yourself needlessly."

I stared at him, stung by his tone. "Trust me, Deputy, I shall not." My tone came off a little sharper than I'd anticipated, but I didn't take it back.

Eadric was looking between us with a strange look on his face. "Deputy Éothain, I think that healer over there wishes to speak to you."

He looked back, and indeed, it did seem as though Mistress Anariel and an assistant wished to speak to him. He met my gaze squarely, the worry (and fear?) plain to see. What little unreasonable anger I'd felt drained away. "Well? I would not want to cross them; if our places were switched, I'd be running," I grinned.

His stance relaxed near-imperceptibly. "I think I'll be going, then, my lady," he said, mouth twitching in amusement. Then he went.

Eadric waited three beats and then said, "If they took the forest road of the Druadan, the one we took coming here, Captain Elfhelm ought to have most definitely reached Harrowdale, and Edoras, by today."

"What has that to do with anything?" I, too, kept my voice low. "By any calculation the Armies should have been at the Black Gate any day now." For some reason my hands trembled slightly at this thought. I hurriedly clasped them together.

Eadric shrugged. "If he left someone behind there..." He looked away. "But I do not _know_ anything, my lady, so you must excuse me."

"Of course," I answered distractedly. He went his way, and I stood by myself for some time in thought.

* * *

It was about an hour later when the world stopped.

* * *

A/N (or, and now some words from the author!): the northern wind, the description of the weather being "grey and drear", and the cute scene where Faramir wraps his mom's cloak round Éowyn are all Tolkien's, not mine. Both this chapter and the next are pretty short, but hard as I tried, I cannot read them as one, so things shall remain as they are now. And now, Onward...


	29. The End of All Things

Disclaimer: I still don't own LOTR, however much I might wish to.

* * *

_...and it seemed to them as they stood upon the wall that the wind died, and the light failed, and the Sun was bleared, and all sounds in the City or in the lands about were hushed: neither wind, nor voice, nor bird-call, nor rustle of leaf, nor their own breath could be heard; the very beating of their hearts was stilled. Time halted._

* * *

It was the end, the End of All Things. Irrationally, the one thought that kept going around and around in my mind was "and I didn't get to put my good boots on!" – which was true (I was wearing the thin women's slippers that the Healers had given me along with the other Gondorian clothes) but largely irrelevant.

It felt as though everything had stopped its motion—as though some great hand had caught us up and squeezed all into immobility—or that the world, the whole world, was holding its breath... It was instantaneous, sweeping over us like some great flood, and I have never wondered that we all felt it, felt the same at the exact same moment, for this was something greater than ourselves, some great and terrible pronouncement outside of any one person or place...

As one we all turned toward the windows, and it seemed to me that above the ridges of the distant mountains another vast mountain of darkness rose, towering up like a wave that should engulf the world, and about it lightnings flickered; and I would have wept if I'd been able to move. I didn't feel terror. I felt stricken, frozen in place, as though someone, or thing, was holding me fast. I darted a frozen glance toward the man nearest me, Godric, and he looked just as frozen as I, his gaze, too, locked on that distant wave of destruction and doom...

And then a tremor ran through the earth. The walls, the floor, quivered around us; we quivered; and then a sound like a sigh went up from all the lands about us, and our hearts beat suddenly again as life rushed back into us.

I could breathe again. I could breathe... I stumbled to the end of the nearest bed and grasped it tightly. The man in the bed looked up at me with a wild expression, his hands locked on the covers so tightly they were bone white. I looked up at the Healer standing next to me, but she was now sitting one bed over, her expression, too, rather wild and full of terror.

"Is this the End, then?" someone murmured, voice surprisingly strong. It was Wulfheah. "This is truly the end of all things?" His voice was steady, yes, but his hands still quivered.

I stared, bewildered. I could barely focus, let alone formulate an answer.

"It is not the end, it is _not_ the end, not yet, not yet," someone was whispering in Westron. "'T may be the end of all we know, but the world still stands..." It was Anariel. She, alone, was still standing, her back straight and eyes gleaming. I watched her in wordless shock.

And it seemed that her own strength, however pretended it might have been, moved to us as well, and I made my way to my feet carefully. In doing so, I faced the windows again. My mind was working once again, but dimly, as though I strained through some unknown fog. And I knew with a dreadful certainty that hope had died, the foolhardy gamble had lost, and that it was only a matter of time before our own extinction.

And still I could not weep.

Suddenly the shutters shook as though from some great wind. I went forward, nearly running, to the nearest sill, drawn by what I do not know. Down below Faramir and Éowyn's hair, raven and golden, was streaming out mingling in the air. They were close, so close, as though to draw strength from the other's touch. Strength in the face of doom...

And as the wind blew fiercely, the Shadow departed, and the Sun was unveiled, and light leaped forth; and I could tell that to the South the waters of the river shone like silver, even from this distance. A great joy seized my heart, and I felt more alive and bright than ever before...

I turned back from the window, still clutching at the sill for the sturdy support of solid stone, and the strange joy I felt was reflected on the faces of all those around me. I trembled with hope and fear, and then someone began to sing.

And if the song of battle had been rich and terrible and consuming, then this was fulfilling and bright and freeing.

Freeing...

And the delicate truth of what had just happened waited, and even though I could not face it just yet, not without proof, I knew it was there, and hope won all.

* * *

A little after noon we'd finally steadied ourselves, though many still sang softly snatches of old celebratory songs, even though we still did not know what exactly we were celebrating. The healers were singing, too, while they passed around the noontime meal, humming various Gondorian tunes that I sometimes recognized, songs that the Gondorian traders we'd had at Alricsloft had brought with them.

Looking out, people were resuming their work once again. I could see down on the first level small groups of people taking apart derelict buildings or clearing rubble. I felt brighter and more energetic than I'd felt in a long time. I felt like smiling often, and sometimes Merry or I would catch the other's bright look and grin at each other in unrestrained joy, and I would feel the laughter bubbling up inside of me. It did not make sense; there was no real evidence to prove our joy unfounded, and yet, and yet...

Suddenly a shout brought our gazes to the broad open windows once again. There from the East flew—

Gasps of shock (and then looks of embarrassment from the men who'd uttered them) flew about. No warrior of the Riddermark, however battle-hardened, had yet seen this.

Out of the East there came a great Eagle flying. It was huge, with a wingspan that left a giant shadow across multiple levels at a time, and breathtakingly majestic. We watched, entranced, as it swooped over the city, up past our seeing and then back again, soaring over all, crying in the common tongue:

_Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,_

_for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,_

_and the Dark Tower is thrown down._

_._

_Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,_

_for your watch hath not been in vain,_

_and the Black Gate is broken,_

_and your King hath passed through,_

_and he is victorious._

_._

_Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,_

_for your King shall come again,_

_and he shall dwell among you_

_all the days of your life._

_._

_And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,_

_and he shall plant it in the high places,_

_and the City shall be blessed._

_._

_Sing all ye people!_

Even from up here, we could hear the people singing. When I turned to Anariel, the tears were streaming down her cheeks freely. "At last! At last," she was saying; "the Tree shall live, and the King shall be home!..."

* * *

END OF PART IV

* * *

A/N: Everything in italics, plus much of the description of the Shadow rising up and then falling, are all straight from Tolkien (specifically ROTK: The Steward and the King). In fact, most of this chapter is either straight from the Grand Master himself or directly derived from him. Funny that this, the most climactic of chapters, is the least original. I guess it just goes to show that some things in life, Tolkien not excepted, just can't be improved upon.

And wow, guys, it's been a whole year since I started this. Huzzah for me! ... But really, it's amazing :) Thank you all for taking the time to read this.


	30. To the Field of Cormallen

Disclaimer: This story is not being written for any profit other than whatever twisted sort of pleasure I (and you readers) get out of mangling Tolkien's wonderful works.

* * *

**PART V**

_"And never forget... all human wisdom is contained in these two words, Wait and Hope" (Dumas)_

* * *

_The days that followed were golden, and Spring and Summer joined and made revel together in the fields of Gondor. ...* _And yea, there was much rejoicing.

Or would be, anyway, when the King finally showed up and was crowned.

* * *

The first two weeks passed by more slowly than I'd anticipated. For all the happiness now present, it felt a little too syrupy and sweet for me, mostly because I longed to be up on a horse riding free.

It had been decided that the host should stay at the Field of Cormallen for a month or so for cleaning up, which was a nice way of saying that they needed to do something about all the dead bodies, wounded soldiers, and massive bands of orcs and who-knew-what still roaming free. Just because Sauron was gone didn't mean that his slaves had magically disappeared as well, apparently. It was indeed a shame, but, as Éowyn remarked in her snide but understanding Rohirric, if things had truly been so good, the soldiers probably wouldn't know what to do with themselves.

She was healed, body and soul, but tarried on in these Houses of Healing. I myself was obviously free to go, but I decided to wait on a little longer just to keep an eye on things—really until I could figure out exactly what was ailing her. Her face was growing pale again, and as Anariel remarked to me in private one morn, it seemed that in all the City Éowyn only was ailing and sorrowful.*

Merry had been summoned, along with me and Éowyn, to Cormallen. He had wondered about staying for a brief moment until I had told him I meant to stay on a bit longer. He did not question it but hopped on the very next shipment of stores to Osgiliath, bearing the letter I'd given him for Théodred.

Théodred... It took an amazing amount of willpower, and a convenient lack of horses, for me not to just run off to the encampment as fast I could. But I still had my nagging doubts about Éowyn, and I knew I would feel guilty if I left her without any sort of resolution.

So I stayed for one week and then two, helping Anariel and the other healers siphon supplies into the Houses of Healing, checking up on the men downstairs, and spending more and more time with Éowyn.

Midway through the second week a messenger appeared bearing a letter for me. Anariel saw the way I flushed when seeing the oh-so-familiar handwriting and suggested rather effusively that I go get a breath of fresh air in the garden.

* * *

_My dearest Saffi,_

_I understand why you stay in the City, though I do not pretend to like it. I would understand a little less if Éomer was any less distressed than he is right now. He is like a little boy, the way he worries over her. But all older brothers are that way, especially yours, although he's not been so worried once Merry reported your good health._

_That being said, darling, please hurry._

_We have performed all rites for the dead. It pains me to tell that not even my own company escaped unscathed. Colm_

.

My gaze forsook me then. I could not read on for several minutes. My hands were shaking too badly. Colm... the first Rider to take me under his wing; whom I had trusted implicitly; who had, in fact, saved my life more times I knew. And, scanning the line hurriedly, also that of Théodred as well. Colm had sacrificed himself for King and country, and oh, it hurt, in part because I could not tell whether I would have had things go differently.

The worst part was that I could not bring myself to cry. Not yet. Not yet.

With an effort, I went on.

.

_Besides me, there are many others wishing to see you. Most particularly your family. – I will not force you into anything, but he is here, all the same. There is much else I would speak to you about, about the war, about our future... but the written word, I think, is not the proper medium. So it must wait until we meet. _

_Merry is most joyous now that he has been reunited with his friends. Four halflings, Saffi; four halflings saved our entire world! It boggles the mind..._

_Reading over this letter, I realize how cold and impersonal it must seem to you. Believe me, dearest, it is only my own ability to put my emotions into words, not the emotions themselves, that are lacking... I hope to see you soon again._

_Ever yours,_

_Théodred_

* * *

That did it. I needed to get to the Field of Cormallen NOW.

So I decided to go to someone whom I knew would have more answers than I—Faramir, the Lord Steward.

The problem was that he was nowhere to be found. I asked all the healers, and then most of the serving girls, but to my dismay he hadn't been seen in the Houses of Healing for several days now. I even ventured back onto the wall to ask some city guards. All they could tell me was that the Steward was much occupied with many matters, like the official succession and doling out supplies and supervising the rebuilding and moving people back into their homes and renovating the King's chambers and ...

(I stopped listening after that.)

He was clearly very busy and much preoccupied with the affairs of his new station and duties. So it made sense that he couldn't come visit as much. But he never really came on visits anyway. Well, he did visit with one person, but no one else.

He visited with—

Éowyn.

* * *

So it turned out that the Steward _was_ the answer to my problem, though much more literally than I'd first suspected.

Well, there was nothing _I_ could do about this 'malady' of hers. He probably was staying away because he was busy, and maybe because he suspected something of her feelings toward Lord—no, King—Aragorn. And she was too proud to go seek him, especially since the last time I'd hinted at it, she'd still insisted that she and Faramir were 'just friends.'

_'Just friends' my butt_, I thought as I stuffed some clothes into my pack. Anariel had insisted that I keep them—"What with all the supplies just flooding in from the west now, we don't need those raggedy things we lent you anyway," she'd told me straight-faced—so now I was the reluctant owner of two Gondorian dresses and a pair of the most un-useful slippers I'd ever set eyes on.

But they were a gift from a friend, so I'd be pretty upset if anyone else made fun of them.

* * *

"Éowyn," I announced at supper that night, "I'm going to Cormallen tomorrow." Silence. Then—

"You're leaving me?" in a voice just a little tighter than it ought to be.

"I—" It did sound a bit callous, what I'd been about to say, so I rethought.

"You're abandoning me for my cousin," she accused.

Well, there were two ways I could react to that. I took the road taught me by my upbringing and gave up trying to please her. "Yes, I am."

There was a bit of a shocked silence after that in which I munched on the pasty nonchalantly and looked Éowyn straight in the face.

Then I swallowed and went on, "I miss him. I miss my brother. And you're all healed, or very nearly so. My work here—not that _I've_ really done much—is finished. You don't need me, and you know it."

She watched me in silence a bit longer. I had to restrain myself from saying a very Merry-like thing and demanding to know why she wasn't eating as much as I.

"You're right," Éowyn said at last rather primly. Then her expression softened, and she leaned forward a bit and said, "You should go to him. I doubt he's had any time to mourn properly... He needs you."

"I'm glad to see you agree," I said, purposely disregarding her implicit release of my person, as though I were a signed servant. Then I just couldn't stop myself, remembering that dreadful ride here and our decidedly one-sided conversations. "Now come, Éowyn, just _one_ more bite?"

She opened her mouth to retort something sharp and then caught a snippet of my poorly-disguised laughter. "Oh, Saffi," she gasped, laughing in spite of herself, "I'm going to miss you; I really am."

* * *

The next morning, accompanied by Anariel in full mother-hen mode, I was waiting at the wagon port long before the workers themselves actually got there. They gave me some odd looks at first, but I ignored them and strode toward the man in charge.

"Excuse me? but could I beg a ride to Osgiliath with you?"

The men around him looked me up and down with a faint sneer. My fingers itched for my blades, but they were all securely tucked away in my pack. How I wished I'd not acquiesced to Anariel's horrified sounds and actually put them on. Well, at least I still had them and they weren't lost on the battlefield somewhere.

"What kind of woman goes traveling alone?" someone muttered under his breath.

Anariel looked outraged, and I couldn't help but feel warmed inside by this. I drew myself up. "I am Lady Sorenna of Rohan, and I would be most pleased to travel to Osgiliath. My business—" I made eye contact with the speaker— "is my own. Your services—well, that's the funny thing. I do not recall the Steward saying there was any sort of fare involved with the travel. Perhaps I misheard him."

There was a sort of embarrassed quiet. "No?" I pressed on, chin up just a tad. "You _are_ traveling the route as announced to the Steward, are you not?"

"Of course, milady," the boss-man told me hurriedly. "Let me take you to the wagons. Please don't mind them; I can't vouch for all my laborers" (with a fierce look behind him) "what with the war and all... Right this way, ma'am."

And I breezed out to the wagons, Anariel floating in my wake.

"Are you sure you'll be alright, milady?" he asked anxiously. "We don't have anything very comfortable... If you were to wait until tomorrow, at least we'd have a shipment of straw for you, not that that's any worthier..."

"Oh, no, this will be fine," I assured him. "Thank you again, Master..."

"Adalmir, Lady."

When he'd gone back inside, I quickly dug through my pack and strapped on the belt and the two arm sheaths. Better safe than sorry.

"Lady Saffi," Anariel began as I buckled the belt, "are you sure...? I mean, there's another group of Healers heading out the day after tomorrow. It would be more..._ proper_..."

I grinned. "I'll be fine. I can take care of myself." Unspoken went my near-desperation, that I didn't think I could wait another minute; that I _needed_ to do this now, propriety be damned.

She eyed the daggers warily and then looked at my face closely. "I trust you can, milady," she said at last. "But, for my sake, might I suggest who you ride with?"

* * *

Two hours later, we'd finally cleared the city and were halfway across the Pelennor on the bumpiest ride I'd ever had in my life. How could anyone deal with a ride like this? Not for the first time, I longed for Mai.

I was riding with the boss-man himself, who turned out to be Anariel's cousin and about the same age as her. – I supposed he was pleasant, for he hadn't said anything out of turn so far. In fact, he hadn't said anything at all after apologizing (again) for the meanness of the ride, though I'd caught him rolling his eyes once or twice earlier when Anariel was lecturing him in lengthy Sindarin.

The Pelennor was finally green. It was a beautiful experience riding across the fields, however tame, after being cooped up in that stone city for so long. To feel the fresh air and the warm sun fully—ah, this was living indeed! and I closed my eyes and turned my face up to the sun for a moment to soak up its warmth.

"Excuse me, milady..."

My eyes popped back open. "Yes?"

"Not to be rude or anything, but... why _are_ you traveling alone? I mean, no attendants or anything! My boys are rude, but..."

_Ah..._ "First, I don't have have any attendants. I accompanied the Princess Éowyn here with the rest of the Eorlingas—the Rohirrim, I mean."

"The princess... that's the one who slew the Witch-King?" His voice was steady enough, but there was just a hint of suppressed awe and fear that belied the easy words.

"The very one," I affirmed. "So it's not like we have the usual retinue."

He turned this over in his mind. "That makes sense. Still... what if something were to happen?"

I found myself repeating the exact same words I'd said to Anariel. (Maybe it was something in the family...) "I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

He had that faint indulgent smile again. "Yes, milady."

I could have gotten all hot and bothered over this—I probably would have even a few months ago—but happiness was mellowing. Or maybe it was something else. So instead I let it slide and went back to staring at the countryside and absorbing the warmth of the sun.

* * *

I woke up just before sunset brandishing a dagger at a very surprised Adalmir.

"Oh! My goodness! I guess you weren't exaggerating," he gasped out in surprise. "Not, of course, that you were ever lying, milady..." with a certain wry twist of the mouth.

I hastened to apologize to him. He didn't deserve to have a dagger stuck in his face, whatever he thought my rank was.

"It's alright, Lady," he said with a sort of half-smile. "After all that's happened, you'd think I would be used to this sort of thing by now. And you _did_ say you could defend yourself."

Before I could think of any suitable response, he had slid off the wagon and was now directing a steady flow of men with surprising ease. I quickly followed and waited until he paused shouting to take a breath.

"Which way to the ships upriver to Cair Andros?"

He grinned, much more in his element here, I realized, than in the shadow of the City. "We're already at the docks, milady. Just follow the supplies!"

I flushed. _Right._

* * *

I'd never been on a boat before, and afterward I couldn't say I'd ever do it again. The boat floor rocked alarmingly from side to side, and I had to sit down hurriedly before I lost my balance completely. Luckily the wind was in our favor, and the ship made good time (according to the sailors' talk) despite the current running the other direction.

The ship sailed overnight, which was an astounding thought. I slept curled up in my spot on deck, tucked out of the way and thus largely ignored by the busy sailors. I'd heard the sailors saying to each other that it wouldn't rain overnight (the skies were unusually clear), so when the Captain asked, I told him I'd be fine out here, much to his dismay. He'd tried to foist a pile of blankets on me, too, but I'd only needed this one. I knew it was odd for me to stay out here, but after the more than three weeks spent cooped up in that stone city, I couldn't stand the idea of going inside. The very idea of going down into the holding area for the supplies made me quail and tremble slightly. So it was better for me to stay out here.

When I woke I didn't know where I was for a moment. The sail flapping overhead was quite disorienting.

I made my way carefully toward the man in charge, who turned out to be called the First Mate. The Mate directed me into the cabin at the back, the captain's quarters, where a humble breakfast was laid out. It was very good, and I said so, much to their surprise. Apparently ladies weren't supposed to like sailors' rations. Then again, most ladies hadn't survived on the meager Riders' fare for five days on a mad dash toward battle, either.

* * *

The rest of the journey lasted all through the morning. It was amazing once I got over the whole lack-of-solid-ground-beneath-my-feet thing. The landscape was rather pretty, and the water flashed by bright blue like the sky. The sailors' work itself was fascinating as well. Who knew that it so much work to sail a boat? I watched until I wearied of the hustle and bustle, and then I turned and stared at the scenery until I wearied of that and looked back at the boat once again.

I was staring at the river again when a shuffling step warned me that someone was approaching. I slid a dagger from its sheath, turning quickly as I did so.

_Not again_, I groaned inwardly. This time it was the First Mate who started away at the sight of my blade. "I just came to tell you that we'll be arriving shortly at the encampment, my Lady," he said carefully. No one had ever really adjusted to my presence on the boat, so the relief in his eyes at my imminent departure wasn't really that surprising.

It still hurt a bit, though, even when I didn't think there was anything that could be done about it. And I knew I was pretty jumpy with the daggers, but I didn't think there was anything I could do about that, either. Not until the war was over, completely over for all.

* * *

I hopped off the boat around noon and had to wait a moment for my legs to adjust themselves to solid ground._ Stupid boat_. Then I wove my way through the busy turnings of the many men unloading supplies. And there, there was the encampment, a massive spread of men and tents and weapons. The Armies of the West.

So many tents... How was I supposed to figure out where to go?

I found a man who wasn't busy with supplies and asked him where the Eorlingas were camped. He gave me an odd look but pointed me in the right direction.

After some minutes of walking through rows and rows of tents, sure enough there flapped the flags with that oh-so-familiar white horse on green. I felt a strange sense of homecoming just seeing them.

The camp here looked the same as before except with a lot more horses. I wandered on some way, not really knowing where to go next. Ought I try to find Sodred? or should I look for Théodred? and what had that cryptic passage in his letter about family meant, anyway?

And then a voice I knew all too well said, "Saffi...! What are you doing _here_?" in all-too-obvious shock.

I turned round with a sense of dread. So _this_ is what Théodred had meant.

My father was here.

* * *

A/N: Both starred lines are from ROTK, The Steward and the King. I really have no idea how long it would have taken to reach the Field of Cormallen, seeing as the only information Tolkien gives us is the one-liner "Merry was summoned and rode away with the wains that took store of goods to Osgiliath and thence by ship to Cair Andros..." So I've done the best I can; many thanks to Thanwen for the timing estimates.

For anyone wondering (as I'm sure some of you are), the question of Saffi traveling alone is a legitimate one. I doubt that any woman would have been allowed to travel without at least one female companion for propriety's sake, if naught else. _I_ wouldn't let a young woman in my care travel alone without a female companion and a guard... So for her to travel alone on that particular date is necessary (there's no one to come unless she demands companions from the Houses of Healing) but not very forward-thinking and/or proper on her end, at least as far as her reputation is concerned. (Merry traveled by himself with no questions asked, but he's male.)


	31. Restless Memories

Disclaimer: Hear ye, hear ye, Jane does not own anything already owned/copyrighted by Tolkien's Estate.

* * *

"What are you _doing_ here, Saffi?" he repeated incredulously.

I felt much the same. Why was my father here? Oh, I was sure there was some sort of rational explanation, but for the life of me, I couldn't think of it. My mind was whirling. And there was a part of me, and not a small part, that felt very small and foolish, just as if I were still a child, that girl staring up at her father bewildered and tearful. And once again I couldn't move, could barely breathe, could only stare at his face uncomprehendingly...

"Well, child?" he demanded sharply. "Speak!"

That roused me. My chin went up instinctively so that I was looking him straight on. I felt something hot and dangerous boil up inside me.

"There is no earthly reason that I should answer to you." The words escaped my mouth before I could think them over. Thinking back on it, maybe this wasn't exactly the best way to start the conversation. But the anger was welling up, and I was of no inclination to stop it.

He was getting riled up well and proper now. He glowered at me and spat out, "You are _Sorenna_! I am your father; so yes, you answer to me!"

I strode closer so that our faces were no more than two feet apart. "You forfeited that right," I hissed. Perhaps I was shaking. I'm still not sure. I could feel myself falling; the fury was pounding and straining for supremacy. "_You forfeited it._ ... I am beholden to you, indeed, for my raising and housing; but allegiance? no. _I am my own person._"

He stared at me, visibly shaken. I stood my ground. He was not frightening, not anymore.

With difficulty I squelched the urge to punch something. Deep breath in, deep breath out... _Talk._

"Father," I said more evenly, "please understand a few things. One, I am no longer a child. Yes, maybe a few months ago, but no longer."

"You have seen something of war, then?" Something flashed in his eyes, but I couldn't tell whether it was triumph or concern.

The low question startled me, I don't know why. I didn't know how to handle myself around him anymore, not when the old barriers had been removed and I had placed us on an equal standing. I also felt shaken by the callous phrasing. "Something of war" didn't even come close to covering all that I had seen and done.

So I ignored it and plowed on. "Second thing—I do not owe you allegiance any longer. – No, listen." I stepped closer still and lowered my voice so that only us two could hear. "You forfeited any claim to my allegiance when you called me a whore and abandoned me to a fate that could very well have been worse than death; yes!, I know that you refused to send help for me with Sodred. I have not forgotten. It was not so long ago as you might hope." I was breathing a little heavily from the suppressed emotion. It was not just anger anymore—it was_ rage..._

He stared at me grimly. "I was wrong, Saffi. I wronged you."

There was really no good way to respond to that, so I didn't.

"Saffi, please try to understand things from my perspective."

"I cannot, and I will not."

"But you must!" He grasped my arm firmly. I couldn't help but remember the last time he had done so. Instinct took over, and the next thing I knew, there was a dagger at his throat.

He backed away. I blinked and could only stare for a few moments before I collected myself and put my daggers away. "Sorry; I'm still a little jumpy," I explained blithely, as though this were a perfectly fine excuse for threatening a man's life for the second time that day.

And all of a sudden, my rage had disappeared, replaced by a strange, half-detached calmness that had taken over me. Maybe it was because I had just demonstrated to myself, once and for all, how helpless and unimportant he really was. He literally had no power over me. And such an insignificant being was really not worth all the energy and time I had been ready to waste on him. Better this detachment, this calmness. For a moment I felt almost outside of myself—I somehow knew that this was how things would always be, with this same calm detachment and control...

"Saffi, we need to talk."

"Huh. Never thought I'd say this, but I agree with you." I hadn't failed to notice that our encounter was in the middle of a rather public place. "We need to go somewhere more...appropriate. How about your tent?"

He shook his head. "I don't have one. – I just got out of the Healers'-Tents, so I'm going to be sharing with an old friend of mine."

"That's lovely, but it doesn't give us anywhere to talk in private. In the meantime, how about we move on from this place? Come, Father, let's go for a walk."

He offered an arm rather gingerly, and I took it.

* * *

It was an odd conversation we had on our stroll through the encampment. It was odd being so close to him, and walking along together in such a companionable manner, after all that had been said and done, and all that had not; and it was odd to speak of such innocent things as we did. Well, the subjects were not innocent; what we said of them was.

He asked me about more neutral topics, like how things were going back in Dunharrow, and I outlined very briefly my journey to Cormallen from that place. I did not mention Merry, nor Anariel, nor Éowyn's sufferings, nor Théodred's wondrous goodbye kiss, and whatever details left over from that were glossed over as well. He did not need to know more than that, and I did not want him to know more.

In return, he told me of his own journey, of his guilt on the way to Dunharrow over his failures (he did not elide which ones); of the Battle on the Pelennor, how he had been caught following Lord Éomer and did great deeds, and doubtless would have died were it not for the Lord Aragorn's arrival; of the trek to the Black Gate, and something of the utter terror and despair of that battle; and then the hope against all odds, and the impossible victory becoming reality. It was a good story, much better than mine; full of action and suspense, not the endless, crushing wait of my own. He had been injured by an Orc at the Black Gate rather badly, hence being taken to the Healers'-Tents. There he had found Sodred quite battered and had waited for him to wake.

I wondered what had been spoken between the two when my brother did wake. Indeed, it did not appear that they were on anything more than the barest minimum of speaking terms.

* * *

Soren stopped a few paces before a tent identical to all the others and let go of me. "Your brother's tent," he explained. "I am sure he will be much delighted to see you."

"And I him," I murmured, and I couldn't help smiling at the thought.

My father took another step away. "I will take my leave of you now."

"Father—as someone who still owes you much, I would know: where will you go?"

He knew, somehow, that I wasn't speaking entirely of the present. "I don't know, daughter," he admitted. "I will—if you wish it—"

"Stay in touch? Yes, I would like to know."

A pause...

Then he said suddenly, as if resolving to do something that had to be done, "Saffi—your mother. You have her grace."

I inclined my head in acceptance, and he bowed and made his way off.

* * *

A/N: Well, that's all for now. Tell me what you think of this nice little confrontation scene. I had imagined things rather differently, but once this started going it just felt more realistic than any of the more dramatic alternatives.


	32. Settling In

Disclaimer: If it looks like it belongs to Tolkien, then it does. This is written entirely for my own enjoyment and (sadly) no financial gain whatsoever.

* * *

The sun had went down hours ago, but I was still awake. Unbidden my father's words rose up in my mind—_You have your mother's grace. Your mother, her grace; you have it..._ And I felt a strange hope, that maybe, even though my father had not meant it that way, there had been a modicum of truth in the saying, that I did have something of hers...

I couldn't sleep, not like this, and my inability to get comfortable in my bedroll was not going to make friends with the Healers. So I got up and headed outside. I needed to take a walk.

Oh, but it had been a wonderful day, notwithstanding all the troubles. And it looked to be a wonderful night, too. The stars shone brighter and clearer than I'd ever seen them, and the air, despite the camp fires, was fresh and clean.

So why did I want to cry so very badly?

* * *

Sodred hadn't been in his tent, so I had wandered around idly until I came across a blonde man (obviously a fellow Eorling) who looked like he knew what he was supposed to be doing. So of course I had immediately interrupted his purposefulness with my questions.

"Excuse me? Do you know a Sodred Sorensson?" I called out.

He turned and gave me an odd look. Then after a pause he said, "I do. Why? Demanding payment? I wouldn't have thought him to be the type; not counting that he already has a girl back home, I've never known him to skip out on a debt—"*

I glared. He stopped, uncertain. "I'm his _sister_. So no to both parts, because one: _I'm_ not that type; and two: even if I were, _ew_."

He flushed, actually looked at me, and flushed even harder. "Sorry, miss. There's a bunch of them here, so I just..."

I kept glaring.

"Uh, right. I should have actually looked before I said..."

I hadn't thought it possible to turn such a bright shade of red. "I won't hold it against you," I assured him and stopped glaring quite so furiously, mostly so he would cease dithering apologetically. "Do you know where he is?"

"Right. Yes, I do, Miss Sorenna. He's in a meeting with the king right now—messengers from Dunharrow just arrived a few hours ago."

"Oh!" It had slipped out before I realized it.

"If you like I can take you there," he added.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt..." I began uneasily.

"Oh, no, miss. It's the least I can do, after..."

He looked so embarrassed that I had to take pity on him. "Then it would be my pleasure."

"This way, miss." And he set off awkwardly, me following at a suitable distance.

The Eorlingas's section of the encampment was far smaller than I remembered it from Dunharrow. Even factoring in the half that had been sent home, and the one hundred still healing in Minas Tirith, we clearly had lost a great many in the two battles.

It only took the walk of a minute to reach the tent in question. It was much bigger than the others—a sizeable group could gather inside—and on each corner flew the banner of the House of Eorl.

The Rider stopped a few feet away. "Is there anything more I can do for you, Miss Sorenna?"

"No. That should be good. Thank you very much," and I swept him a fine curtsy, aided by the full skirt of the dress Anariel had pressed upon me the day before.

He blushed again and bowed his way off. I turned my attention to the tent. There were two guards standing outside, one one either side of the doorway. They were not wearing helms, leaving their long hair free to stream out in the wind. It looked pretty, but it wasn't exactly the most conducive style for actual fighting. It was a mark of the security of our current position; we must have been safer from our enemies than we had been for many an Age, almost.

I eyed the guards for a bit and then decided to take my chances, so I marched straight up to them. They immediately moved in unison to block my way. I smiled and began innocently, "Good sirs, I was just wondering: is Sodred Sor—"

"It _is_ you!"

"Huh?" I jumped back a pace from the guard on the left. He was grinning widely at the other.

"She's the one I told you about! Peada, this is the Lady Saffi Sorenna!"

"The one that—"

"The treaty, yes! Fought at the Fords of Isen, she did!" The grin was even wider now.

I looked from one to the other confusedly. _Who...?_ The name finally came to me. "Almon!"

He grinned. "Yes, indeed, Lady Sorenna! Well met!" He clasped my hands warmly.

Almon looked well, although there were more lines on his face than I remembered. He grinned and turned to his companion. "This is the Lady," and the other man swept a deep bow fit for a queen. I flushed and began to protest, but Almon said, "Milady, if it's not yet fit, 'twill be so soon enough," this with a knowing look.

I changed the subject hastily. "New uniform?"

Almon looked down. "Oh, ah, yes, actually. I'm the captain of the Guard now. Théodred—Théodred King—incorporated what was left of his Éored with the Guard."

"Congratulations." I stepped closer and added in a low voice, "Théodred chose well."

Almon gave an embarrassed but pleased smile. "Thank you, milady. – Thank you very much."

"So—" I looked at them both— "when do you think they'll be out?"

Peada shrugged, and Almon admitted, "No idea. The King and your brother have been in there all morning with the messengers."

I grimaced. "Right. Do you think they'd let me sit outside and wait?"

"Oh, no, milady," Almon scoffed. "Just think what it'd do to our image. I mean, you'd ruin the symmetry."

Then the tent flap moved. Almon and Peada snapped to attention, and I jumped to the side hurriedly. A man stuck his head out and asked, "Captain, my Lord's free now. Anyone here to see him?"

Almon gestured at me. "Tell them the Lady Sorenna has arrived."

"Yessir." The head disappeared. I waited, suddenly nervous.

Someone must have said something to Almon through the flap, for he nodded to me. "My lady, they'll be done in a moment."

And indeed, men had begun filing out of the tent. I didn't know the first three, but there right behind them was Merry smiling brightly at me, and there—here was Sodred, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug and laughing my name over and over again.

"Hi, Sodred!" I finally managed to gasp out.

"You're here!" he laughed. "Am I glad to see you!" He pulled back to get a good look at me. "On your feet and cranky as ever, I see!"

"You haven't changed either," I shot back. "Still trying to get punched!"

"Oh, no, Saffi," he returned jovially. "I've got punched enough to last me a lifetime."

Something about the way his smile dimmed ever so slightly told me more than he'd meant to let out. I looked up at him. "Father said that you were hurt badly."

"Father! You—you've, uh, seen him, then." He looked at me questioningly.

"We had a nice conversation, and he agreed to stay in touch."

Sodred eyed me suspiciously. "You know, whenever you say _nice_, it always turns out to be the opposite."

"Oh, no. This time it really was nice, the nicest it's ever been."

"Ah, _that_ kind of nice." He smiled. "And speaking of 'nice,' it was only a few scratches."

Now it was my turn to look at him suspiciously. "A few scratches! He said you were unconscious!"

"Well, _you_ were unconscious in the Houses of Healing, so now we're even."

"Yeah, and you got to be worried sick, yelling at me and all that..."

He sighed gustily. "I didn't really break anything; I was just ... bruised. Badly bruised. That's all."

I squeezed him tightly. He disengaged my hands gently. "Saffi, I'm glad you missed me, and I missed you, but I think I'm not the only one who wants to see you..."

I blinked and then blushed. "Are you sure?"

Sodred rolled his eyes at me. "Trust me, Saffi. I'm sure. Do you know, I've never seen a committee dismissed so quickly?"

"Really?"

Sodred had an odd look on his face, half happiness and half regret. "I think you'd better go. I don't want to get my head chopped off for keeping you too long."

"I seriously doubt—" I began, and he pushed me through the tent flap before I could finish.

It was well-lit but still darker than outside, so it took me a moment to be able to see anything. And then I didn't have to see at all, for I knew without a doubt that it was Théodred who had caught me up in his arms, and I knew without a doubt that it would be well.

* * *

After a bit, we finally separated as Almon sidled into a far corner looking awkward.

"For propriety's sake, love," Théodred grimaced. "However much I wish it, we aren't married yet."

"Yet?" That, too, somehow just slipped out.

He gave me a sharp glance, and I was suddenly painfully aware of Almon's awkward presence. (Poor man.) "Saffi," Théodred said, and suddenly my hands were in his warm ones, causing my breath to come rather unsteadily, "I would you be my wife. No, don't answer yet! This is neither the time nor the place for such declarations from either of us. Just know that the question is there, and think on it awhile."

I nodded mutely. _Wife..._ That was all I had ever wanted with him, wasn't it? – But to be wife meant—Queen. I would be his queen, our queen. Being Queen was a weighty responsibility, a job, not a figurehead. Marriage to Théodred wasn't just about having a relationship—it would be a partnership, being on duty all hours of the day and night. Could I do it?

Could we do it?

With an effort I yanked my thoughts back to more pressing matters and said the first thing that came to mind. "Éowyn is recovering splendidly, or will be quite soon."

Théodred arched a blonde brow at me. "You said in your letter that she had recovered but for one last ailment. Did you find the cure?"

I grinned. "Not really. She did, though not on purpose. – We'll have to break Éomer into the idea somehow. It should be ... interesting."

Théodred looked at me calculatingly. "Does this have anything to do with a Steward that you kept mentioning in rather glowing terms?"

_Was that a hint of jealousy in his voice?_ "She smiles at him," I said by way of explanation. "One talk with him, and she finally admitted that she needed help. Another talk, and her cheeks actually had color in them."

"Ah... It explains much." He looked a little less anxious now. "Why was he in the Houses of Healing?"

"He is a good man and, more importantly, good for _her_," I answered, addressing the unspoken query first. "He led his men to the bitter end at Osgiliath, delaying the Enemy's forces in reaching Minas Tirith, and then... He was gravely injured." It didn't feel right to go through the intimate details of Faramir's family issues right there, especially since, if things went as I suspected, the family would be getting to know Faramir rather well anyway.

"Things are going well, then," he smiled.

"As well as can be expected. The men are recovering, but they won't—Théodred, _many won't be able to ride_."

He looked grim. "And what can I tell them? There's nothing I can say! Beyond, glad to see you didn't die, but you're going to have to abandon all that our culture holds dear, good luck with that!"

"I don't know." I shook my head. "I don't know. The last time I saw them, they were doing their utmost to stay chipper, but—there's only so much you can do, and they've been all cooped up in the same room for over three weeks now. Honestly, I'm afraid of what will happen when we get home—not how others will treat them, but how they will treat themselves. ..."

We sat for a moment in silence together, the only motion his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. It was oddly comforting.

Then Théodred sighed and straightened. "Now for my part. The messengers have just returned from Dunharrow. All the refugees are doing well; your friend Elise, by all reports, is doing an excellent job. The orcs were routed before they reached Edoras or the refugee camps, mainly thanks to Erkenbrand, since Wilfrid only had a defending force with him. – That man should be a Marshal."

"Erkenbrand?"

"Aye."

"Marshal over where? I mean, the posts are supposed to be flexible, right? Does he know all the Mark?"**

"No." Another sigh. "He knows Westfold like the back of his hand, but Eastfold? It would be a nightmare!"

"Unless—" I looked at him sharply.

"Saffi, it would mean overturning centuries-old tradition!"

"So? You said it yourself. He should be a marshal, and he knows Westfold and has defended it probably since before I was born."

His eyes had lit up despite the protestations. I had the feeling he'd been thinking about this for a while. "I will have to consult with the counselors to make it official, but you're right. It shall be done. A West Marshal and an East Marshal—it makes perfect sense."

"Sorry, but—what counselors?"

He grinned. "You haven't met them, of course. Several used to work for my father before the Worm. And I was thinking about maybe adding another or two, to help with trade and such. Do you realize that now the Dimholt's open, we can actually trade with all of Western Gondor?"

"The Dimholt...?"

"The Paths of the Dead."

I stared.

"Aragorn took them, and the Dead are now gone. They fulfilled their Oath to Isildur's Heir at long last, and he released them."

"Do you really think the other Eorlingas are going to buy that?"

"Nope." He grinned. "But the Gondorian traders will."

I laughed and then considered this. "You know, you're probably right. – But we'll still need traders of our own; otherwise the money will just flow right out of the Riddermark straight to Gondor. I met some traders on the way here, and they don't seem as though they'd let go even a pence of profit."

Théodred nodded. "Once we get back on our feet, we might support a trade caravan or two."

"What _is_ the situation? food-wise and all?"

Théodred looked grim again, and his mouth thinned. There was a new gray hair just there, tucked behind his ear. I touched it curiously.

He sighed melodramatically. "Yes, love, I'm getting old and decrepit."

That didn't deserve a response, so I didn't give it one beyond kissing his cheek, which seemed to do the job pretty well.

Théodred went on, "As you know, Saruman poisoned the Isen pretty thoroughly, so it'll take about a year for all the life to recover enough to start fishing and the like. Westfold, too, was pretty ravaged with the armies crossing for the Hornburg, and upper Wold has mostly the same problems. However, Westfold's been cleaning up pretty well, and we should be able to get in both plantings as usual. I'm not so sure about the upper Wold; I'm going to visit when we get back home so I can assess the damage myself. But the lower Wold and all of Eastfold have really went unscathed, so the sheep breeders are fine and the farms all through there should have about the same product saved. So right now it's anyone's guess whether there will actually be famine or not this winter...

"Aragorn wants to send supplies as thanks for holding Ceorl's Oath, so we could start building up the stores. Grima... the Worm made sure that our stores were near-empty, so I don't know how long it will take to get them back to the proper levels, or even what the proper levels are..." He sighed heavily and rubbed his hand across his face tiredly.

"So you need an advisor on food and on trade."

Théodred stared at me blankly.

"You can't stress about this on your own. There's got to be someone who will do all the basic work so you can actually see straight."

"Saffi, I don't—"

"It's not like you'd be ignoring your responsibilities," I plowed on, "since you would still be overseeing the problem. You just need to delegate the work more so that you're not the only person concentrating on the issue."

He nodded slowly. "I will definitely take that into consideration." His grip on my hand tightened.

"Er... Excuse me, milord, milady," Almon bowed hastily, having just peered out the tent flap, "but the King of Gondor's coming as agreed yesterday."

Théodred straightened. "Right. – Saffi..."

"I need to figure out where I'm staying, anyway. Maybe with the Gondorian Healers; they're definitely proper enough." I rose, and he followed suit. "Have fun!"

"Oh, yes. _So_ much _fun_," he grumbled. "No, I like Aragorn. I just don't know exactly how to handle the food. I mean, we need it, but I also don't accept charity."

I stared at him. "It's not charity! We saved them...kind of."

"We fulfilled the Oath."

"Well, I—Huh." The trouble was that I could see exactly where he was coming from. "You could appoint a trade advisor and get him to figure it out for you."

Théodred groaned again, and I exited the tent before I could be prompted to stay any longer.

* * *

Aragorn was indeed just approaching. He halted two yards away from me and smiled. "Westu hal, Sithwif Sorenna."***

I gaped at him. "Wait... you speak Rohirric? Erm, I mean, westu hal, your Majesty..."

He winced. "King Elessar, if you must. But please, no 'your High-ness' or any such nonsense."

"You speak Rohirric!"

"Yes, my Lady," he replied smoothly with just a hint of amusement. "It is good to see you healthy once again."

I swallowed my shock and attempted to continue with a normal conversation. _In Rohirric!_ "I am most glad as well. – Congratulations on your accession."

"Not just yet," he corrected me, "for I am not truly king until I have been crowned in the City."

"Minas Tirith?" I guessed.

He looked at me thoroughly, and I felt a chill at the depth of his gaze. There indeed seemed to be something otherworldly about him, like the City itself. "You do not call it Mundburg?"

I shook my head mutely. How to explain what had transpired that strange night when I still did not quite understand it myself? "Minas Tirith seems more appropriate," I said at last.

"It was once Minas Anor, Tower of the Setting Sun," Aragorn mused. "Perhaps I shall live to see it return to its former splendor."

Looking at him and the stern, almost fearsome greatness, I could well believe it. "I think so, my Lord," I returned, "but I shall not keep you any longer." I curtseyed, and he bowed. But as he turned away I couldn't help but mutter "I can't believe he speaks Rohirric!" and I saw the hint of answering laughter on his face.

* * *

Finding housing with the Healers had been much easier than I'd expected. Apparently several of the Healers knew Anariel and had heard about me, and they "would be most honored to house such a Lady" as I apparently was. I nodded and smiled and made a mental note to find out exactly what Anariel had said.

But, in the meantime, I had found a respectable place to stay where no one would ask questions and which would shield me from all but the pickiest questions of propriety. I had never worried about it before, and, even a month ago, I couldn't have said I understood the concern with it. But a month ago I hadn't been considering marriage to the prince—no, King—of the Riddermark (just daydreaming a bit). And there were clearly enough camp followers here that the first man I'd met here had automatically assumed I was one of them. I'd never felt such a mixture of insult and shock as I had then. _Well, there's a first time for everything_, I mused stoically. _Let's just hope there's no second._

* * *

And now it was night, me standing outside amongst the rows and rows of sleeping tents, and now I'd had time to think things over, to consider all that had occurred this day, and now...

I felt overwhelmed. It felt like things were all happening at once. After a month of agony and nearly another of waiting just to _see _him, it felt as though now Théodred's declaration had come right out of the blue sky above and crashed down upon me in the blink of an eye.

_Too fast; it feels too fast, too sudden... I want this, I might have always wanted this, but..._ But what? I had gotten what I wanted, right?

But it also felt like everything was rapidly spinning out of my control. Almon had implied my future status—

(queenship. I would be a queen; I would be _Queen..._)

—before Théodred had even said a word. I felt like the only person who hadn't known about this, which was plain wrong seeing as this was centered around _me_.

I needed someone to talk to, not my brother, definitely not Théodred... but whom? Éowyn (not that she was really a candidate) was in Minas Tirith, as was Anariel; and Elise was all the way in Dunharrow, as were the rest of my girl-friends.

But there were other ways of communication, however we Eorlingas decried them—like ... _writing_.

I was settled. I would write to Elise and wait for a response. Maybe I could talk to Sodred about Mother—no. I would talk to Théodred, for I knew it would be well with him there. And in the meantime, I would get on like I always had, dealing with problems as they came, taking my strange new existence in stride.

And, thinking of Théodred's warmth, maybe this wasn't such a frightening idea after all.

* * *

*For those of you who haven't guessed, he thinks she's a whore. It's not that far-fetched; I just can't see men in an encampment not automatically assuming that a random female wandering around is a whore, especially if they're not looking too hard at her. It's not like there's really any other women present, after all, excluding my added Gondorian Healers who remain near-exclusively inside the healing tents.

**Previous to Éomer's reign, the posts of 2nd and 3rd Marshal (Théodred and Éomer, respectively, with Théoden King as 1st Marshal) were fluid, with each marshal presiding over whichever border area was most troublesome, hence Théodred being sent to Westfold since the threat from Saruman was greatest there. Under Éomer, the positions were consolidated into West and East Marshals. I am having Théodred do largely the same, with West Marshal commanding over Westfold and Westemnet, East Marshal over Eastfold and Eastemnet, another guy as Captain-Marshal of the Wold, and then the King's Guard helping out wherever necessary. Pretty much the same organization as I decided upon previously (outlined at the end of Ch. 17 of this fic).

***_Well met, Lady Sorenna._ It's my hodgepodge of the greeting given in Tolkien—Westu Hal—and the Old English word for "noble lady" according to an Old English Translator online (old english translator . co . uk) because yes, Aragorn speaks Rohirric. (He's just awesome like that.) But for languages in general, I'm operating on the assumption that if the conversation is between Rohirrim, it's in Rohirric, and if not (i.e. with Merry or any of the Gondoreans) it's in Westron.


	33. On Horses and Husbands

Disclaimer: This is Tolkien fanfic, not original fiction. So obviously I'm not making money off of this... *sobs hysterically at the lack of $*

* * *

The healers around me were still asleep when I squirmed out of my bedroll early the next morning. The sun wasn't yet over the horizon, and from what I could hear, it seemed as though most of the encampment was still abed as well. (This was just fine by me, since it meant that no one else would be up and about to bother me.) So I strapped on my daggers and headed to one of the training areas that Sodred had kindly pointed out yesterday.

There were several yards scattered along the edges of the encampment, some for exercising our mounts and others specifically for human use only. I slipped into one and tried to act as though this were just another yard back home where no one could see. Even so, I still felt a little self-conscious about sliding out of the dress and into the tunic. It was my riding tunic from home, so it went down to my knees, but after three weeks of being barraged by the Healers' strict adherence to propriety, along with yesterday's awkwardness, I felt a little awkward at first about wearing it. Then I thought, _What kind of Eorling are you, anyway?_, flipped a dagger right into the center of the farthest target, and promptly forgot to feel sorry for myself.

Nevertheless, my muscles were rather stiff and unresponsive at first, partly because I had sat idle in the Houses of Healing for so long and partly due to the previous days' travels. Even though I'd resumed training in Minas Tirith long before leaving, there was only so much I could do in the restrictive passages of the gardens and small rooms. But after the initial warmup and the following stretches, I started to ease back into the familiar stances and configurations. I ran through several pattern dances until I felt too exhausted to twist anymore and then, after dragging two targets to the appropriate distances, practiced throwing the daggers. To my dismay, my aim was troublingly inconsistent. I gritted my teeth, yanked the blades out of the targets, and tried again.

The sun was just skirting the edge of the treeline when I decided I was far too exhausted to continue without a break. There was a trough and bucket at the far end, and I went over and dumped a bucketful of water on my head. _Horse Lords, that felt good..._ I shook myself off, looked up, and froze.

Three healers were watching me, and from their stances, they'd been watching for a while.

I went up to them and tried to be pleasant. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh! Nothing, my lady, nothing," stammered out one of the healers. I looked at her more closely and got a shock. She was young, very young, and, looking at the other two more closely, so were her companions. Not one of them could have been much over the age of thirteen.

I blinked. "Do the other Healers know you're here?"

"Yes, my lady, we asked permission to go watch you," another answered rather breathlessly. "That was amazing!"

"What?" _Are they talking about someone else?_

"That—what you were doing just now," the second girl went on. "Do all women from Rohan fight like that?"

I stared. "Well, of course not! My lady Éowyn—the Princess—she slew the Witch-King with a sword."

"Oh, right, my lady," and they all nodded vigorously. "What are those, anyway? Knives?"

"Sort of. They're actually daggers. See here?" I pulled one out. "See how they fit in my clothing, and the double-edge? If they were knives, they'd be longer and probably only have one cutting edge." The girls nodded, their eyes riveted on the blade. "Now, most Rohirrim fight with sword and lance."

"What's a lance?"

"It's like a spear but longer. Like—that Rider over there." I pointed at the training yard next to mine. Several men were exercising their mounts, and one was practicing with a lance as well. "See how much reach he gets with it while mounted?"

"Oh, that makes sense, my lady," the first girl said. She was clearly fascinated. "Do you ride?"

I stared. "Of course! I'm an Eorling, aren't I?"

"A what?"

"Sorry, a Rohir. We call ourselves Eorlingas, the followers of Eorl, our first lord."

"Ah," and they were nodding in comprehension again.

"So, tell me again why exactly you're here?"

The first girl sucked in her breath. "We just wanted to watch. Well, me and Miri did, and Lissie wanted to come with us, so..." She shrugged and then recollected herself. "My lady."

"So do all women from Rohan fight?" the second girl asked again.

I considered this. "Yes, and no. Yes, most of us know our way around some weapon or another; no, we don't fight in battle. In Rohan, women have to be able to protect the homestead while the men are off in the army, so we can fight if we must. It's the men's job to fight off invaders—not that anyone really wants to fight if they have to."

They were nodding again. "Do you think—" the first girl began cautiously.

"Yes?"

"Do you think that, that _we_ could..."

"Avareth! Mirineth! Where _are_ you?"

The girls swiveled around instinctively. "Oh, no! We must have been out here longer than we thought. We've got to be back now. –Thank you, my lady! Thank you so much!" They all bobbed me quick curtseys and then hurried back, their brown robes and black trim flapping as they ran.

* * *

"Saffi, come on," Théodred said again. I huffed at him and tried to keep up. I was tired from this morning's training, which had been doubly exhausting since up till now I hadn't been exercising like I ought, so I was having a bit of trouble walking as fast as Théodred apparently wanted. We'd met up for lunch and gone over a slew of official documents that made my eyes swim, many of them trade suggestions from the Guild Masters here in Gondor. After a while, Théodred had decided that we ought to go for a walk, and now I was trotting beside him wondering where exactly we were heading.

Théodred stopped in front of me abruptly. I stopped as well and then nearly fell into him, clutching at his shoulders for balance. He was very distracting, and once again I was wondering why he had to be so handsome and make my brain go all woozy...

"Well?"

I stepped around him curiously. "What is it, Théo?" Before us now stretched a small field and beyond it a wood. There were several clumps of horses grazing or walking around; they definitely belonged to Eorlingas, since no Gondorian in his right mind would let his horse wander around on its own.

"What exactly am I supposed to be looking at, Thé—_oh!_"

It was Mai.

I kind of froze and stared at her in unbelieving shock. She stared back.

Then Théodred poked me in the back. "Go on. Say hello. She's missed you, you know."

I stumbled forward a few steps, and Mai haltingly came toward me. Then I threw my arms around her neck, and she whinnied in sheer pleasure, and Théodred laughed with delight, a deep, full-hearted sound that warmed me from head to foot. I hadn't heard him laugh like that since—I didn't know; I didn't know when I'd heard him sound so free of sorrow. I looked back at him grinning at me hugely, and Mai took the opportunity to push me.

She pushed me! and I fell right into Théodred's arms. He pulled me close and kissed me so thoroughly that I couldn't quite remember my name right after.

I clung to him for a moment trying to recollect myself. Then I sputtered the first thing that popped into my head: "She _pushed_ me!" That got Théodred laughing again, and Mai made some horsey sounds as well that sounded suspiciously like laughter. I turned and glared at her, and she gave me an innocent look and went after the pocket that held the sugar.

I couldn't hold out for long and gave her all of it. Then she knelt on the soft ground and I clambered up onto her back and—

And I was on my horse, the wind blowing through my hair as we galloped around the field; and Théodred was smiling; and, for that moment at least, everything was right again.

* * *

Eventually I had to get off Mai because the sun was going down and my muscles were threatening to cramp up from the unexpected amount of exercise.

It wasn't until Mai and I got to the tent I was sharing with the Healers that I realized I didn't actually know where Mai was going to stay. I stopped just outside to think about this and then remembered that she was probably being housed with Théodred's mounts.

"Oh my lady!"

I blinked; Mai snorted. It was one of the girls from this morning—and behind her, her two companions.

"Is that your horse?" They crowded together a few feet away, staring at Mai in awe.

I grinned. "This is Mai. Mai, meet—" I stopped. I hadn't had a chance to ask the girls their names this morning, they'd run off so quickly.

"Right! Sorry, my lady. I'm Avareth, this is Mirineth, and this," gesturing at the silent girl, "is Linessë."

I waited to see what Mai would do.

The girls stared at Mai. Mai stared back. Then she whickered and tried to stick her nose up the silent girl's sleeve.

The silent girl—Linessë—jumped and then giggled.

"What does your horse want?" the first girl demanded.

I shrugged. "How should I know? She's her own person."

"What do you mean?"

_How to explain the bond between horse and rider?_ "She's my horse, yes, but I'm also her person."

Avareth stared at me blankly. The middle girl, Mirineth, nodded slowly. Linessë smiled at Mai shyly.

"Well, Mai, what do you think?" I asked her in our language.* "Should I keep them?"

Mai regarded them for a moment and then nodded.

The girls' eyes got even wider.

Finally Avareth said, "Did your horse just—"

Mirineth asked, "You can talk to horses?"

Linessë gave me a small, shy smile.

I grinned. "They don't call us Rohirrim Horse Lords for nothing." Then Mai and I set off once again as the girls stared after us dumbfounded.

* * *

The next few days passed uneventfully enough. I trained in the mornings, and spent the day in conference with Théodred, my brother, and several Lords of the House of Eorl. Théodred had managed to delay his final decision on the food shipments until he'd had time, as he put it, to "discuss the details of the arrangements with his Advisor on Food and Trade," which had caused a few of the more untrustworthy traders to blanch slightly.

After the traders had left, I couldn't help but ask, "Who _is_ the advisor...?" to which Théodred had replied, grinning widely, "I believe you are acquainted with my appointee already."

Lord Cenred looked suspicious, a sentiment I shared. "Who?"

Théodred contrived to look even more smug than usual. "Elise Tanrira."

The Lords looked confused.

It was my turn to grin. "She is currently running the refugee camp at Dunharrow."

Lord Cenred was the first to relax. "Ah. A wise choice. I have heard many good reports of her."

Théodred smiled. "I am glad to see you agree. Is there any who would wish to contradict with one of their own choosing?"

There was silence while a few of the Lords shifted uneasily in their seats. Not all were overjoyed at the decision, but since none of them could come up with a replacement, Théodred had forced them to agree with him.

* * *

Other official announcements soon followed:

_... And let it be known that Théodred King of the Riddermark affirms the Oath of Ceorl, now and forever, to affirm the bonds between our nation and Gondor. And in this renewal Gondor swears that she will come to Rohan's defense as Rohan will come to hers. ..._

* * *

... one hundred men, my lords, currently in Mundburg, who, although they may not be able to wield a spear as well as they used, still know horses and horseflesh. You say you have need of stablehands, and builders, and farmers. Well, here they are...**

Théodred son of Théoden King

* * *

_...and that Sodred Sorensson shall be the Ambassador to the Dunlending Peoples, and for that purpose may make his place of Residence in the village of his choosing along the Western border of the Mark, in stead of a place at Court, for the Purpose of greater facility to his Duties..._

* * *

The only consistently disgruntled person was Éomer. At our first meeting he had grabbed a bunch of parchment and since then had been sending off letters to his sister demanding her come to Cormallen.

"But is she really healed?" he asked me anxiously again and again.

After the fiftieth time, I'd replied, "Yes, Éomer! Yes! She's all better! Completely! So stop asking me about her!"

Apparently this had been the wrong thing to tell him. His face had went from worried to relieved—and then to angry. "She's better? – Thank B—Hey! Why can't she come, then, if she's all better? Dammit, why won't she come? _Éowyn!_"

* * *

A day later I got a note from Éowyn herself.

_Saffi,_

_He wants to marry me! We are to be married. Married! Imagine that, me married to Faramir. What did I do to deserve such a wonderful man?_

_You don't have to tell Éomer anything about this, of course, no matter how many times he asks you or how many letters he sends me asking me why I haven't come. (He's a bit protective.) In fact, you don't have to tell my cousin, either. After all, you'll be coming to the City soon anyway, right? so why don't we wait to spread the news? We can just...surprise them._

_And yes, just this once you can say it: you were right._

_—__Éowyn Eomunda_

* * *

That same day I was greeted at the training yard by the three healer-girls who had first followed me there. They'd been watching me every morning now, but this was the first time since our meeting that they'd actually spoken to me.

"What can I do for you?" I asked nicely. Or tried, anyhow.

"We, we were wondering if, if..." Avareth looked up at me rather fearfully.

"If...?" I prompted.

"Ifyoucouldteachushowtofight," she expelled all in a rush.

I blinked. My Westron was definitely not up to _that_. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

Avareth blushed. "If you—if you could teach us to, teach us to _fight..._"

I gaped. Then I recollected myself and said, "Why me?" and then just "Why?"

"Because, milady," Mirineth interjected, "we can't, and you can, and well, me and Vara and Lissie here, we're from—_were_ from, before the troubles, from Ithilien, and now our das will probably want to go back, as a family and all, and we want to be able to take care of ourselves if we have to." She stopped, realized just how much she'd said, turned red and fell silent.

Avareth started again. "Yes, what Miri said. I mean, milady, we've been safe in Minas Tirith, and we knew that if, you know, the City fell, there was really no point to it all anyway, not that the City would, but now that we're to be going home again, we thought it might be best if we learned how to prevent wounds, not just heal them. And we've been watching, and hearing, from Mistress Anariel and the others, and you're good. My Lady."

I stared at the three of them. "You really want this?"

"Aye!" and all three nodded fiercely. I looked each one in the eye. They looked scared but didn't back down.

"Well." I considered this for a moment. Was I really the right person to do this? – But, if not me, who else? And Mai had approved of them...

I made my decision. "Every morning, report to this yard at dawn, and I'll train you. – And I'm not milady. You will call me Miss Saffi. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my La—Miss Saffi," they stammered out.

I looked them over critically. There was no way they could train in those horrendous brown outfits.

"Follow me, girls. We're going to get you some training clothes."

* * *

While we set off back towards camp, I asked them what the black trim on their robes signified.

"It shows that we're not actual Healers; we're just assistants, junior-Healers still in training," Avareth explained.

"So how did you end up in the Houses of Healing?"

"Our families sent us there," Mirineth answered. "When the war got bad."

"The Healers take any and all helpers volunteered," Avareth took over. "So it was really the perfect solution. Food, clothing, a roof over our heads, and virtually no worries about our safety; not to mention we got career training as well."

"How long have you been assistants?"

"I've been there three years now, and so has Miri. Lissie came only a year ago, though, right, Lissie?"

Linessë bobbed her head silently.

* * *

We must have made an odd picture striding through the encampment, me ahead followed by the three girls, their heads bobbing around the height of my shoulder. I wasn't quite sure what I was doing, only that, if I was actually going to do this, I needed to get them some tunics and breeches that they could actually fight in.

I set off through the Eorlingas' section of the camp with the thought that at least here I could communicate with people properly in order to find the clothing stores. The girls were quiet and wide-eyed, staring at the horses peering out of every other tent. Then I heard someone calling my name.

"Saffi? What on Arda...?" And there was Théodred, accompanied by several soldiers of his Guard.

I stopped. The girls behind me stopped as well.

Théodred came up to me. "Saffi, dare I ask?"

I shrugged. "They want me to teach them to fight."

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "They're _Gondorian_."

"But they're not noble." He was standing awfully close to me, which was very distracting. I kept paying more attention to his chest, and his eyes, and his mouth—_Béma, his mouth_—instead of his words.

Luckily Théodred stepped away from me, and, with a wave of his hand to the Guard, addressed the girls themselves in Westron. I closed my eyes and wondered what exactly I'd gotten myself into. Then I opened them and saw Hunwald grinning at me. I scowled. He bowed. "My lady." Then he muttered something to his comrades, who all grinned widely in response.

I eyed them suspiciously. "What?"

But before any could respond, Théodred was touching my arm and looking at me again. "Dearest, how about you take them to break fast first and start training after? I'll send over clothing and weapons to your tent."

I let out a breathe I didn't know I'd been holding. "Thank you so much..."

He grinned. "They admire you. – Yes, Saffi, I know hero-worship when I see it."

"But why?" I yelped.

"You're a hero," Hunwald supplied (un)helpfully. I shot him a dark glare. He grinned back unfazed.

I turned to Théodred. "Meetings like usual?"

He sighed. "Unfortunately so."

I grinned. "See you then, love." I turned back to the girls, but I didn't miss the look on Théodred's face at my appellation, and it warmed me from head to foot.

* * *

We hadn't gotten very far before Avareth demanded, "Was that man your husband?"

It was a good thing there wasn't anything in my path, for if there had been, I most definitely would have tripped.

"Is he?" Mirineth added. "He acted like it. – You both did."

"Really(!)," I managed to croak out.

"Well?"

"'That man,' as you called him, is the King of Rohan," I informed them. Their eyes got wide as saucers.

Then Avareth said, "So is he your husband? – Wait, he can't be. You're not a Queen, are you? If you were, wouldn't you be staying with him?"

"Yes. I mean no. Er, yes. – No, I'm not Queen, and yes, if I were, I would be staying with him. But I'm not, so it's not a problem."

"Oh. That makes sense," Mirineth stated. We walked on in silence.

Then... "So is he _going_ to be your husband?"

* * *

*By "our" language, Saffi means, of course, Rohirric.

**Théodred is speaking of the one hundred Rohirrim still recuperating in Minas Tirith who have lost various limbs and thus can no longer be Riders.

A/N: After wondering for a while just how close the Rohirrim are to their horses, I've decided that (in my opinion at least) it's a combination of just knowing a whole lot about them from practically living their whole lives in the saddle along with a healthy dose of good old-fashioned horse magic, enough that the horses understand a lot more of what their particular riders are saying/feeling than do the horses in other lands of Men. By me, the relationship between Rohir and horse is not so mystic as that of the Elves but more of an everyday, practical magic that belongs as much to the horses as it does to their Riders.


	34. Burdens Loaded and Unloaded

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that already belongs to Tolkien. That being said, these particular words are mine, all mine! *evil cackle* Ahem. Anyway...

* * *

Near the end of breakfast a few mornings later, a rather grubby Eorling (well, more grubby than usual) entered the meal-tent. Several Healers looked at him askance and subtly shifted their seats farther away. I pressed my lips together firmly to keep from laughing (amusement was preferable to anger) and instead turned the smile on the newcomer.

"Lady Sorenna?" He looked tired.

"Yes?" I rose to meet him.

"A letter for ye, milady." He handed it to me.

I didn't have any coin on me, so instead I offered him my seat. "You just stay here, and I'll get you a plate. – Have you been riding since sunrise?" I highly suspected he had; messengers' pay hinged on how quickly they could deliver the package(s) in question.

"Aye, milady. – And I already made my deliveries to the king Théodred, of course." He looked at me curiously while I piled up food. When I returned and handed him his breakfast, he blurted out suddenly, "Have we met before?"

"I don't ..._think_ so," I said cautiously. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed my girls watching avidly without understand a word of what we were saying.

"Yes! Lady Saffi?" he guessed.

I blinked and tried to recall where I might have encountered him.

"You're from Alricsloft?"

"Oh! – Are you the messenger who brought us news about the invasion?"

"Yes, ma'am. And I brought—I brought you a letter from the Prince, him who's king now." He eyed me speculatively. I grinned but ignored the question.

"Well met." I gave him my hand, and he stood to shake it.

"Badric, ma'am. One of the couriers of Edoras."

I nodded. "How is it? Edoras, I mean."

He shrugged. "As well as one could hope, I suppose. The city's pretty empty, though, since many either left for the camps or at least sent their children off. So even though most of the homes are still occupied, it doesn't really feel lived in."

"Aye, as well as could be expected, from a war. At least it's still intact." I smiled. "Now eat!"

He bobbed his head in acceptance and sat back down to his meal with relish. And I waited and turned the folded parchment over and over again in my hands.

* * *

A few rather silent minutes later—filled with me watching the girls watching Badric—one of the Healers called for my charges, and I relinquished them to their duties. Then I went out by myself to read the letter in private.

As I had expected, it was from Elise.

_Dear Saffi,_

_Yes, we are well, we are all well, all is well, or close enough for me to feel so right now. I'm a little dizzy from joy, so pardon my disjointed phrasings. I have written to Théodred with my acceptance of the post—I cannot believe it! Me! Advising the King! I am excited, to be sure, but I do wonder why he chose me of all people. – Oh, look at me being silly, when I'm going to be Food and Trade Advisor, not a post to be shouldered lightly._

* * *

I grinned. Trust Elise to sound embarrassed even on parchment! She went on sounding as though she had been Advisor for ages already.

* * *

_The orcs never reached us, as you well know, thanks to Captain Wilfrid and Erkenbrand, who (as you no doubt also know) is Captain of the Hornburg. I think the harvests will be fine. Our only problem is what to eat until the harvest. There are many mouths to feed and not much to feed them with._

_You said that King Aragorn—King! Isuldur's Heir! I was right, you see, I was right!—had offered to send grain but that Théodred worried it was too like charity. I do see your point, although I must confess that my qualms stem less from the idea of charity and more from the precedent set by accepting free things from our more powerful neighbor. Yes, Gondor is more powerful, and yes, I trust its new King to lead well. That being said, who knows what kind of precedent this may set for future generations looking to us to set the tone for their relations. However we might have sworn Ceorl's Oath, we are still a sovereign land, a nation, wholly separate from Gondor. The Oath is a treaty, payment in stead of money for the land we now call our own._

_(Have I bored you yet with my overanalysis of state diplomacy?)_

_But anyway, we need the food. Is there anything else we could trade with Gondor ... besides horses. Eamon tells me that, after the war, it will take a few years for our stocks to recover entirely, so there are no profits to be made off horseflesh just yet. I am asking around to see what kind of products beyond grain are produced in the Mark, especially in Eastfold and Wold since I know less of them than I do of Westfold._

* * *

I grimaced. I didn't know much about Wold and Eastfold, either, something that would have to be remedied. I would feel guilty becoming a queen that didn't even know her own people. ..._Me, being Queen._ I shied away from the thought and returned to her letter hurriedly.

* * *

_How are you? Who—The lists of the dead must have come out. Saffi, did—_

_Please, just tell me, anyone we know, even in passing? How severe were our losses? You told me something of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, as they are calling it, but what of the wounded? What of Éowyn? What of—never mind._

_And speaking of Éowyn, what of her cousin? (Yes, it was a horrible transition. I cannot come up with anything better, so it'll have to do.)_

_But I cannot agree with you on this one subject. For Théodred's intentions towards you have always been clear to all. He has hidden nothing. If you have not seen it, it is because you have been (rightfully) wary of seeing so far ahead, and fearful of presuming too much. So I will say this: that I was not the only one to see this coming since Dunharrow, if not long before. Éothain saw it. Éowyn saw it; he introduced you to the family, didn't he? (I know what you're going to say here. Saffi, when would he have introduced you to his father? Really, when?)_

_Yes, it feels fast. It is fast. Things like this tend to happen fast. But it is most certainly not unexpected._

_So no, I doubt he announced it before asking you. Do you really think so little of him? I just think that Almon, like the rest of us, could see what was coming._

_And so you will be Queen. Imagine that, me knowing a queen! Saffi, yes, it is a hard task, yes it is demanding, yes it will be stressful, but—listen to yourself. You're having fun. Admit it. You like doing these things. You will be fine. I know you don't believe me, and you don't have to. Just trust in yourself, and in Théodred._

_Your friend,_

_Elise Tanrira_

_P.S. Father wants to write a book about the Riddermark's war as part of the War on the West since most of the songs are about what took place to our east, not here. What do you think? I told him he should do it as long as it didn't involve me doing all his research for him._

* * *

_Bless you, Elise, Béma bless you._ I swallowed hard. She was right, as usual. But I was—I was afraid.

But so was Théodred.

* * *

I found him in his tent—alone, thankfully, for I did not know what I would have done if someone else had been there first. Thankfully the guard recognized me and allowed my passage with nary a question asked. Théodred himself was busy examining a report written up in Elise's familiar handwriting.

Once inside I stopped, suddenly unsure of myself. Now that I was here, the thoughtless drive that had made me come was gone; and I had no idea what to say. I fidgeted with my sleeve awkwardly.

Somehow the sound must have alerted him to my presence. Théodred turned, and his eyes lit up. "Saffi! What are you doing here?" He stood hurriedly, tossing the parchment aside unconcernedly, and came up close to me. He was very distracting.

I stared up at him mutely. "I... I guess I just wanted to talk, maybe. – If you're not too busy, that is..."

"Saffi, please do not ever think that I will be too busy for you." He looked at me pleadingly, and I got a feeling he was not speaking of our present circumstances only.

It was this thought that gave me the courage to sit down in the proffered chair and gather my scattered wits. "I'm afraid that I won't be a good Queen."

He looked at me for a long moment, unfazed by my abruptness. "I know. But I also know that you will be good at it."

I stared.

"I had to think long and hard about marriage, too, love. I've always known that the odds of me finding a woman I could love who would also make an appropriate Queen were next to nil. And if I had to chose between the two, I know not but I would chose country over love..." He stared off into space broodingly. "I admit that it was one of the reasons I delayed openly pursuing you. And then, of course, when I'd finally realized that you would be perfect, I had no idea whether you actually wanted me or not. So I had to wait even more. It was the most frustrating month of my life!"

I laughed at that. "I can well imagine. – I am sorry I took so long. But I don't think I'm very good at noticing these things," I finished rather shamefacedly.

He smiled. "Oh, no, dear—you always noticed the important questions just fine. Whenever I needed someone to listen, or to talk with, or to yell at me... Like the morn before Isen."

I blushed. "You really think so?"

He looked at me hard. "Do you really think I would have asked you if I didn't?"

"No," I admitted. "You have excellent judgment in such matters."

Théodred chuckled. "I am glad you think so."

A comfortable silence followed. At last I stretched my legs, stood, and remarked tersely, "I saw my father the other day."

He waited patiently.

"The day I got here, in fact. It was an... interesting discussion."

"What kind of interesting?" He knew me too well for that kind of verbal choice to escape him, and I was glad of it.

"He accused me of rank insubordination, I told him he'd forfeited all rights to allegiance, and then we had a lovely walk to Sodred's tent talking about our war experiences."

"Ah," Théodred commented wisely.

"It was enlightening."

"For whom?"

I stared at the tent flap quietly. "For both, I think."

Warm arms circled me from behind, and Théodred's warm mouth hovered tantalizingly near my ear. I leaned back into him comfortably.

_I could wake up to this every morning. We could do this every day_... And now the question: did I trust us? myself? enough to make such a commitment? Did I really think we could do this together? This wouldn't be a one-time resolution, I realized. It meant that we would chose, each day, to do this, to trust each other and to trust in ourselves.

"Théodred." I made my decision.

"Mmm?"

"Yes."

"What?" I felt his body tense.

"Yes. – You asked me, over a week ago. And my answer is: yes!"

He spun me around so that we faced each other. "You will be my wife? my partner? my Queen?"

I grinned. "Yes!"

And then he spun me round in his arms, laughing and smiling and kissing me over and over again. A strange, fierce joy ran through us both, and I felt better—brighter and haler—than I could remember.

Then we bumped into a tent pole, the whole structure shook, and reality came crashing back. I felt rather dazed.

The guard stuck his head in wonderingly, and Théodred let go of me a little shamefacedly. "My lord, milady, is everything alright?" the guard inquired, grinning wide all the while.

Théodred turned to him triumphantly, holding my hand tightly. "Never better: Lady Sorenna has finally accepted me."

The guard grinned even more widely still. "Congratulations! – I'll just leave you to yourselves for a bit."

"Thank you," Théodred—my betrothed!—replied meaningfully. He turned to me and murmured, "This might be the last bit of privacy we get for a long while."

I grinned up at him. Why had I ever been afraid of this? Now that I had given my answer, it felt that everything was falling into place where it ought to be at long last.

Then he pulled me into another long kiss, and all rational thought fled for a time.

* * *

At last, however, it was time to face the world—or at least the other Eorlingas.

"How should we make the announcement?" I asked.

"How would you like to do it? Do you want the official ceremony here or in Edoras?"

"I think it would be better in Edoras," I decided reluctantly. "I mean, I'd love to do it soon as possible, but I think we owe it to them not to just show up having done it even before we see how things are going. And you have to admit, the symbolism would be better there."

"I agree," he sighed. "It would... _look _better. So would you still like to make an announcement?"

I looked at him. "Would it even be possible to to keep it secret?"

He grinned. "No. But I thought I should ask anyway."

* * *

We were (rather understandably) a little late for the council meeting. When we entered, Sodred took one look at us and then sprang up beaming. "Théodred, Saffi, congratulations!" and he pulled me into a bonecrushing hug. The lords looked on bemusedly while my brother enthusiastically pumped Théodred's arm and babbled on about how 'of course I had his blessing, and how he'd been wondering how long it would take us, and whether we wanted the first one to be a boy or a girl'...

At last my brother let go of Théodred and back away looking a little embarrassed, immensely pleased, and a tad bit sad. I patted his shoulder reassuringly while Théodred turned toward the Lords, still wearing that smug, satisfied look, and announced, "As you are probably aware of by now, Lady Saffi has agreed to marry me."

I couldn't help but smile even more at this—the very sound of it was both frightening and thrilling. _We're getting married. We are actually getting married(!). Married!_

Lord Cenred was up first to congratulate us. He was even taller than most and, though his hair was mostly silver, he was still as hearty and hale as any warrior around; his great-great-grandfather had been brother to a King, so he was Théodred's cousin from afar. He smiled genuinely and shook my hand warmly; the others soon followed suit. I was glad he approved.

Once all had come round and wished us well, it was back to business. In some ways I was glad of it; the work, though tiring, was stimulating—only to Elise and Théodred would I admit that it was indeed enjoyable—and better still, it distracted me from the implications of our announcement. So I settled down gladly next to Théodred, and we turned to Elise's missive elaborating on the state of crops for this year's growing season.

* * *

The days continued on in much the same manner as before, only that instead of training on my own in the mornings, I taught all three girls and then breakfasted with them.

I had started them with archery interspersed with hand-to-hand combat, the things I figured that, as girls on farms, would be most useful for them. Mirineth had potential—when fighting, she had a bit of a vicious streak—but struggled to keep her temper in control long enough to correct her skill. Avareth had no particular gift beyond a stubbornness that fought through all barriers. But Linessë took to archery like an Eorling to a horse. She would sink into some cool place, notch the bow, and fire off a whole round without blinking. Oh, her technique left much to be desired, but she clearly had the makings of a true archer. I hoped she would be able to find someone to train her after I left.

Breakfasts with them were ... interesting. And very amusing. Mirineth chattered on and on with Avareth constantly adding corrections or clarifications. Linessë just sat quietly next to me, swinging her feet and munching away. I wondered if she ever spoke—or whether she simply chose not to since the other two did it for her.

From Mirineth I gradually learned that the three girls had not seen anything of the battle, only the wounded, but that our (the Eorlingas') horns had been heard all the way up there on the sixth level, and that we had subsequently been held as near-god-like heroes for our dramatic entrance. None had been able to actually witness aught because in addition to closing and barring the thick wooden shutters, the Healers had purposely sent the young ones to the back rooms away from any possible invader-entrances.

"It was the most delicious sound," Mirineth announced grandly. "It gave us all shivers." It was nearly a week after Elise's letter had come, and I was settled enough within myself to listen with equanimity to the girls' chatter. Currently Mirineth was telling me about hearing us Eorlingas' horn-blast upon arriving at the Pelennor.

Avareth muttered, "Most sounds gave us shivers."

"It was wonderful," Mirineth continued stubbornly. "The Mistresses all looked at each other—'_what could it be?_'—though of course we didn't have time to actually say it, since they kept bringing in more wounded. ... Do you have a horn?"

I shook my head. "Nay, I do not."

"Then you should get one."

Avareth stared off into space. "I think the singing was more terrible."

I stared, fork frozen just above my plate. "You could hear our singing? over the battle? all the way up there?"

All three nodded as one.

I blinked and sat back. "Well, then."

"Can you recall the words?" Mirineth asked eagerly.

"No." I didn't want to recall them, either.

"Are you sure? – Do you know the tune, then?" she pressed.

"Miri!" Avareth hissed. "Stop!"

Mirineth turned to her wide-eyed. "Why?"

"Some things are for the battlefield only," Avareth intoned darkly.

"Don't look at me like that, Vara! You don't know anything about battle, so don't yell at me. – Miss Saffi, don't you know the tune?"

"No, I do not, and I hope that I will never hear it again." I looked sharply at Mirineth. "I know you think she's just being bossy, but Avareth is right: such a song is meant for the battlefield only, when the only way to survive with even a bit of sanity left is to forget your self, to lose yourself in the song and in the slaying... –"

Mirineth stared at me desperately. "I..." And then she leapt up from the table and ran off.

I rose to go after her, but Avareth grabbed at my sleeve and said authoritatively, "This isn't the first time, Miss. She usually gets over it quick, if you just leave her alone for a bit."

"Avareth(!)," I said warningly. She let go and sat back reluctantly, and I headed off after Mirineth.

* * *

The girl was standing at the edge of one of the Eorlingas' training yards where they were exercising the horses. It was a beautiful sight, well-toned muscles rippling under shining skin and manes swirling about. All one could ask for, I thought a little wistfully, was some wind. –There was a breeze, to be sure, or at least what the Gondorians called a breeze; but it was really nothing more than tiny puffs of air, not the true rushing breeze of the plains.– And there, carefully balanced against the rails, stood Mirineth.

I came up beside her as quiet as I knew how. Then I said, "Mirineth..." and she started and looked round.

"Miss Saffi! How—I didn't hear you come," she said accusatorily.

"I didn't want you to hear," I stated amiably.

There was a lull, as the only sounds that came were the pounding of hooves and the clash of metal on metal as Riders sparred.

She looked back at the horses. "I'm sorry, my Lady. Really I am. I don't—"

And then she started crying silently. I gathered her into my arms a little awkwardly at first, and then she grabbed at my tunic and soaked it thoroughly. _What is it about Gondor?_ I wondered vaguely. _Every time I turn around, someone's crying at me..._

* * *

When we got back, breakfast had been over for quite some time and the other two girls were already at their stations in the nearest infirmary. Avareth put down her basket and promptly hugged her friend, and I left them knowing that she would be well, or at least as well as was possible.

* * *

I realized that I would like to go home soon.


	35. Familial Bonds

Disclaimer: I own nothing that already belongs to Tolkien & Affiliates. Everyone is fictitious and bear no intentional resemblance to any persons known to me the author, living or dead. Mostly.

* * *

A few days later we did start off home—kind of. Well, we went to Aragorn's new home, Minas Tirith, and from there supposedly we would someday head back to the Mark.

I couldn't decide whether or not I was glad to be returning to the City. The last weeks out here, with the open air and grass, had been divine, although there had been a bit too many trees for my liking. And now I had to go back to the stone and the close quarters and closed-up sky.

But I got on the boat with the Healers without complaining—getting Mai to follow took all my concentration—and then the river took us away, took me away from my betrothed. The plan was that first Aragorn would be crowned and then we would hurry off home to prepare for the Mark's coronation, which probably wouldn't occur until high summer. I suppose we could have had Théodred's own coronation about then, too; only the timing would have been rushed, trying to bring his father's funeral caravan back in such a short time and Aragorn not being able to reciprocate and attend the Mark functions. And we all knew that such events ought to be done with all deliberate speed only. So, since the question of Gondor's sucession was a bit more pressing than our own, to Minas Tirith first we marched. –Well, the armies marched; the Healers and their charges (including me) came back by water, which, being much smoother, was better for anyone still nursing injuries abed.

And thus I was on a boat waving goodbye to Théodred and feeling a bit forlorn even though I knew I would be seeing him again within the week.

* * *

The trip downstream took little more than a few hours; it turned out that getting everyone onto the boat took far longer than the actual journey. When we disembarked, I led Mai straight off the deck and hurried out of the way of the many shiphands and dock workers flooding the area.

"Saffi!"

I jumped and turned round to find Éowyn waving at me through the crowd. Mai and I picked our way carefully over to her.

"Well met, cousin," she chirruped at me.

I looked at her suspiciously. "Who are you, and what have you done to the real Éowyn?"

She laughed and gave me a genuine, open smile. She looked well—more than well; she was practically glowing. "I am just happy." She considered this. "I suppose you have just never seen me this way."

"Probably not. – You look very well. Did Lord Faramir take good care of you, then?"

She blushed. "Of course. But we must get out of this mess! Come on, cousin!"

Before I could ask her what that perplexing appellation meant, Éowyn swung her mount round and headed towards the road to Minas Tirith. I hurriedly mounted Mai, and we stumbled after her.

I found the road easily enough and Éowyn more easily still—her bright hair and regal posture made her easy to pick out. She was waiting rather impatiently.

"Aw, can't wait to get back to your betrothed?" I teased.

She mock-glared at me. "I could soon be saying the same about you, I dare say!"

I ducked my head. "Probably could do it right now."

Her mouth hung open for a moment. "And when were you going to tell me?"

"Now. It's not going to be officially announced until we get back home," I informed her. "But you can tell Faramir if you must."

"He can probably figure it out on his own," Éowyn shrugged. "But really, it sure took you long enough. Now look at me and Faramir—"

"Speaking of which," I hastily interrupted, "Éomer doesn't know about you two. So he's rather ... miffed about you not coming to Cormallen."

"What about Théodred?"

"He suspects," I admitted. "He was rather jealous of the praise I kept heaping on the Lord Steward, so I had to explain how much he'd helped you."

She considered this. "Do you think my cousin will give his blessing?"

"I don't see why not." I shrugged. "Now Éomer might be a bit of a problem." A _big_ problem.

Éowyn grimaced. "He has always been rather protective. You are very lucky to have a brother who approved so easily."

I grimaced right back at her. "You didn't see him babbling on in front of the counselors about how 'of course I had his blessing, and how he'd been wondering how long it would take us, and how he had been thinking about setting up a betting pool, and whether we wanted the first one to be a boy or a girl, and so maybe the bets ought to be on which comes first,' blah blah blah. Ugh."

She chuckled. "Have you considered a date for the wedding?"

I stared at her. "No. – I honestly don't think I could, not until we were certain we'd actually be able to make it through next winter. I don't know exactly what a royal wedding entails, but if it follows any traditions I know, we'll pretty much be giving a party for all of Edoras."

Éowyn gave me a lopsided smile. "Spoken like a true Queen, Saffi! I suppose it just shows how ill-qualified I really am for such a position."

I didn't know how to answer that, so I stayed silent.

"Believe it or not, Saffi, but I am glad not to be a queen. I don't think—I am not quite cut out for it. I am much more content to be wife to the Steward. And of course Faramir being Steward helps." She grinned. "Don't you think, cousin?"

I stared at her. "That's the third time you've said that. We're not cousins."

"Not yet," she agreed; "but once you marry Théodred you will be." She smiled slightly. "So we'll be family."

"Family," I repeated. A new family for a new life, and for a new Age. It had a nice ring to it: "_Cousin_."

* * *

We reached the Citadel late in the afternoon. Éowyn led me to the living quarters; apparently, as a soon-to-be royal and friend of hers, I was now an official guest of the Steward.

My new rooms were vast and lushly decorated. I said as much to Éowyn while servants fluttered around, primping pillows and unpacking my few bags.

"Now Saffi, the rooms are not that big at all," Éowyn told me with a completely straight face. "And according to the housekeeper, the furniture is quite outdated now. So really, your rooms are barely acceptable."

We stared at each other for a moment. Then Éowyn flopped down in the nearest chair and sighed out, "I know, right? I mean, Meduseld hasn't been in the best condition as of late, but still... I remember when it was in full splendor. Théodred would tell us how small it was compared to Gondor, and Éomer and I always made fun of him and said that he was just exaggerating, that nothing could be bigger or better than Meduseld. And now look at this!" She swept her hand round at the room.

"Do you not like it?"

"It's lovely. I just—I'm not used to it yet, that's why it doesn't feel like home. I suppose." She shrugged. "But I don't have to think about it for a while, anyway." Then her face brightened. "Faramir!"

Faramir was, as usual, very nice, and very polite, and very inclusive, but I could see from his face that he would have loved to have found Éowyn on her own. I excused myself and left them to themselves—and the servants. I guess that in Gondor a man and woman weren't supposed to be alone, even when betrothed. _Thank goodness for good old Mark-custom_, I thought fervently. Without it I would have had to lose what little precious time alone with Théodred that we could find.

* * *

A few days later, the Armies of the West arrived at the gates of the city, and Aragorn became king.

His coronation was stunning and grand. For the occasion scores of lords and ladies turned out in all their southern finery, while the ordinary people of Minas Tirith lined the streets to get a glimpse of their new king. The city was full and bustling as people took up residency once again, and there were harpers and players on viols and flutes and horns and all manner of instruments come from across the land, all to see Aragorn be Crowned.**

But the best part was that, through it all, he looked like a man who has finally come home.

During the days that followed, I met a few of the higher-ranking Gondorians—the ones that Théodred actually liked—and managed to avoid the rest. Our engagement had not been announced, only shared with those nearest and dearest (Faramir, by dint of Éowyn, got to be included). I knew that I would have felt horrible had we told these strangers before our own people, but such thoughts didn't make me feel any better about the more desperate Gondorian ladies trying to "befriend" my betrothed. I trusted him, and they didn't know any better, but somehow that logic failed to subdue me. Éowyn had to keep herself from laughing hysterically when she saw the look on my face at one banquet where several ladies seemed intent on draping themselves seductively all over Théodred, much to his dismay and Aragorn's amusement. After that I stopped forcing myself to attend and to restrain myself for hours on end from punching people. Instead I busied myself with training the girls.

I know that it might have been odd for me to avoid most of the festivities, but I could not find it in myself to make merry (or rather smile and pretend to) when I wanted to be home so badly. And since I was not yet Officially Important, I could still slip away and not cause a stir. I realized that I would miss that when I was married, the anonymity. Once I was Queen everyone would know me. How much of my privacy would I be losing?

"Saffi, don't be such an idiot about this," Sodred informed me one night. We were in a side corridor a few yards away from another Official Gathering of Important Persons. "What do you mean, you're going to 'lose your anonymity'? Since when did_ anyone_ in Alricsloft _ever_ have _any_ privacy _whatsoever_?"

I considered this. "Oh. – Right."

"So shut up and stop complaining!"

I rolled my eyes. "Wise advice indeed."

"Hey, you're not the only one getting tired of this." He scowled. "I miss Anwyn."

I had almost forgotten. "I've been all caught up with Théo, haven't I?" I asked guiltily.

"Yep."

I didn't know what to say, so I squeezed his hand in silent apology.

"Hey, don't get all mushy on me," Sodred exclaimed in mock-disgust. "Just don't expect to see me for a few months once we get back. We'll be busy making up for lost time."

"Ugh! Thanks for _that_ mental image!"

"It's only fair, the way you and Théodred carry on."

He had a point, so I took it and didn't hit him. Well, not_ too_ hard, anway.

* * *

Théodred wanted to go home, too, something I found out the very next morning. He was holding a letter and staring blankly out the window when I entered his sitting room.

"Good morn, Théo."

No response.

"Good _morn_, Théod_red_."

Still nothing.

I briefly considered saying something outrageous (like "I've decided to run off to the Golden Wood and marry an Elf"), but I figured that would be just a little too mean. So instead I went over and kissed him. _That _got his attention quite nicely.

When the need for air forced us to separate, Théodred looked down at me bemusedly, still keeping me within the strong circle of his arms. "Hi, Saffi. Where did you come from?"

"I've actually been trying to get your attention for a bit," I told him. "What was so distracting? I mean, it's a nice view, but..."

He sighed. "I was just thinking about the Mark, and the recovery, and when we could possibly get married."

"Not until we're sure of the food supplies, right?"

Théodred smiled and sighed and kissed the top of my head lightly. "Exactly, love." (He didn't look too happy about it, though, not that I could blame him.) Then he handed me the parchment, explaining, "The letter I was reading: it's from Erkenbrand. He agrees that we should hurry back."

"Will—" I wasn't quite sure how to put it. "Will we have your coronation soon as we get there, or...?"

"No." He shook his head and made an ineffectual swipe at a piece of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. "We've got to rebuild first, and there can't be a funeral without a coronation right after. I was thinking we go first, see how things are, and have the funeral and such (along with all the nobles and their rich appetites) when we think we can actually handle it. I don't think it's feasible to have both massive repairs and a state funeral all at once."

"Ah." That made sense. "But the effort's coming on as well as can be expected. So really there's nothing different to enact beyond what's already being done? besides going home." In my opinion, what the Mark really needed at this point was simply for us to bring the army home—practically, it meant increasing the workforce by at least a third—and to bring Théodred home.

"Then you agree that we should go home soon as is humanly possible?" he asked hopefully.

I tucked the wayward strand of hair behind his ear. "Of course. Seeing you means that the war is over and that the House of Eorl still stands strong. You're practically the living symbol of the Mark, so having you there in the flesh will remind people that we can and will recover."

"How soon do you think we can get started?" Théodred asked, stroking my hair absentmindedly.

I leaned into him. "I think we should talk to Aragorn first, to be polite and also for logistics; I mean, for all we know, the Road is still impassable. But he'll understand."

* * *

He did. In fact, he was almost suspiciously excited about us going home, something Théodred and I both noted. But we waited until our ambassadors had spoken and haggled and come to an agreement on Official Escorts and Ye Olde Gondorian Rituals of Courtly Goodbyes and all that before digging for answers.

After the meeting had ended and the others had dispersed, Aragorn pulled us aside to ask in private if we could host some "visitors from the North."

"What kind of visitors?" I asked suspiciously.

"Some ... friends of mine.—Elves, to be exact."

I stared at him. "You want me to host Elves? I don't— We can't—"

"_Please_, Lady Saffi. I would not be asking if it were not truly important."

I stared at him. What could possibly be so important to make it acceptable for Elves to stay with us while we were still sweeping out the dead bodies? (Metaphorically speaking. Hopefully.)

Then Théodred said suddenly, thoughtfully, "You're not married yet, are you?"

Aragorn inclined his head and said, "Not _yet_," and I suddenly understood a lot more.

"We'll do it, then," Théodred promised with a blinding smile, "since one of these visitors is coming to stay."

* * *

I got the chance to read the rest of Erkenbrand's letter after spending the afternoon training the girls in the fine art of knifing someone in the belly. They were fast learners, which was good since we'd be parting very soon. I didn't quite know what to do about them, to be honest. In a perfect world, perhaps I would have been able to bring them home with me.

Instead, Avareth had pledged herself to becoming a full Healer someday, and the other two were still holding on for their families to come get them. In the meantime, they practiced swordsmanship while I looked on and got to thinking that having a child or two (or four) wouldn't be so bad, especially with Théodred as the father.

Once the girls looked to be in no danger of killing each other (especially since I'd roped Éowyn in to helping me out), I settled down to read. Erkenbrand's letter, most likely taken by a scribe, cut straight to the point:

* * *

_Speaking of which, I have already heard a few of your advisers grumbling about you needing to get married or whatnot. Théodred: Please do not let them force you into anything you do not wish to do. I recall something about you and a young lady the last time we met (although, given the circumstances, you understand why I do not remember any more), but don't rush things just because you are in want of a wife. The Mark will not prosper if its King and Queen cannot hold it together with love. ..._

_Erkenbrand, Captain of the Hornburg_

* * *

I had not really considered the idea that anyone had ever been pressuring Théodred to marry. After all, war and defense of our borders seemed to me to be enough problems to try to deal with.

I said this to Éowyn, who had come and sat next to me and was now trying and failing to not read over my shoulder.

She stuttered and gave me a disbelieving look. When she'd finally caught her breath, Éowyn managed to get out, "Where have you been to not know this?"

I blinked. "Um...Westfold?"

"Théodred's _forty-one_, or about to be!" she said impatiently. "Most men marry in their twenties or early thirties and then get to work making babies. My cousin, to put it bluntly, is _behind_. Most royals do tend to marry late, but not so late as he." She considered what she'd said and then clarified, "Not that I regret him waiting for you and all that, but viewing the matter purely in a prudential light, he ought to have found a wife long ago. The only reason the Council let it slide was that war came right as he was starting to get a bit old, so, as you said, there were more important things to worry about."

I grimaced. "And it would probably have been nice for you to have a powerful companion, wouldn't it?"

She looked at me sharply. "I didn't say that."

"It's the truth, though?"

She shrugged. "I already had high-born friends, and he split us apart smooth as butter all the same. No, Saffi, I don't think it would have helped, not in the end."

We sat quietly for a bit longer, the only noises being the sound of wooden blades whacking together. Then Éowyn said, "Will you—when we go back to Meduseld, Saffi, I don't know—

"Faramir won't be with me," she started again. "Could you—not shadow me, obviously, since you'll be busy, but—but if the memories—" She swallowed.

"I'll watch out, don't worry. – Plus I'll have you so busy teaching me all about running the household and Edoras's politics that you won't have time to remember anything beyond your betrothed's name."

She smiled at this. I pressed on. "But Éowyn, I think it might help, too, if you told someone else."

She glanced at me sharply.

"Specifically, your brother."

The glance turned into a full-on glare.

I shrugged. "Just my opinion. But—"

"But it just might be right?"

I crossed my arms. "I'm completely right, and you know it! He's your _brother_. He deserves to know—not necessarily all of it, but to understand something of you and where you're coming from. And you don't have to do it right now, or even tomorrow! Just _think_ about it, okay?"

She scowled. "Fine. – You'd make a good bully."

I grinned and sat back unfazed. The sun was shining, my girls hadn't actually injured anyone yet, and we Eorlingas were going home soon.

_Home._

* * *

*Around 1700-ish (5 pm for you Americans), which, during the summer, means there's still several hours before sunset.

**The second half of this sentence is rather heavily borrowed from ROTK: The Steward and the King.


	36. Burning Days

Disclaimer: If it looks like Tolkien's, it probably is.

A/N: Well, I've passed the two-year mark with this story, which is a lot longer than I first naively thought when I began writing fanfiction all those years ago (all of two, that is). It's all very exciting. Enjoy!

* * *

As if to make up for all the strife of the outgoing ride, our homeward journey was incredibly uneventful. Nothing came to bother us, we didn't bother any Drúedain, and we made pretty decent time. Honestly the most trying bit for me was saying goodbye to the girls, who were staying in the Houses of Healing until their parents came to the city at month's end.

The only difference besides speed was who exactly made up our train. No company had escaped unscathed, so there were far less soldiers returning than had left. But there were two new additions: Elves (although apparently they were technically Peredhil, whatever that was), twins, with dark hair and handsome features. They were Aragorn's foster-brothers, and were traveling with us in order to meet Aragorn's visitors. (My suspicion turned into a definite guess as to the identity—and race—of Aragorn's future wife.)

Éowyn's parting with Faramir had been tearful and warm. Granted, it would have been a heck of a lot warmer still if Éomer hadn't been glaring down their necks the whole time and insistently ignoring any questions of personal space or privacy. Good thing that Théodred had agreed to give them ten minutes alone the night before to say their real goodbyes. Watching Éomer in full big-brother protective mode, I couldn't help but wonder idly about what Théodred had said to Sodred to make him back off. Perhaps he ought to have a similar conversation with Éomer…

Once we entered the Riddermark proper and left the trees behind us, Théodred often halted the procession so that he could go visit local Eastfold villages. He would lead small parties of nobles and soldiers alike to what seemed an innumerable amount of homesteads and villages. I was always a part of the group, as was Éomer. It turned out that Éomer was something of an expert on Eastfold. He knew the land even better than Théodred, and what was more, he seemed to know the names of everyone we met as well.

After the fourth day of such expeditions, I expressed my admiration to Éomer.

He grinned broadly. "I was born and raised in Eastfold," he told me, as if that explained everything. Seeing my incomprehension, he added, "I love it. You have your big plains out west, and, well, it's nice and all, but here, with the hills and the orchards and all that—" sweeping his arm out grandly—"this is truly beautiful country, in my opinion. I could gladly stay here always."

I couldn't help myself and looked at him encouragingly. Théodred and I both wanted Éomer to become East Marshal, head of the guard of the eastern borders and governor of Eastfold; the only problem was that the natural seat of Marshal would be Aldburg. I wasn't sure if either he or his sister had ever visited Aldburg since their parents' deaths.

Éomer glared at me. "Don't, Saffi—I know what you're going to say."

I grinned a little guiltily and tried to turn the conversation back towards him. "Then you _are _considering it."

"I could build my own homestead, you know," he said stubbornly.

"Right."

"I'm sure I could find builders to add annexes for my Riders."

"Uh huh."

"So really I wouldn't have to live anywhere near there."

"Near where?" I asked innocently.

His glare deepened. "I don't want to live in Aldburg!"

"No one said you had to."

"Lady Saffi…" He was upset with me; he never used formal address otherwise.

_Enough with this_. Mai drew up to a halt and Firefoot, ever the gentleman when ladies were nearby, immediately did the same. "Listen, Éomer," I said, jabbing my finger at him for emphasis, "we both know that you're the right person for the job. Personally I could care less where you live. Now you must admit that both history and job convenience point towards one exact location. But that being said, the two aren't one and the same! The eastern border is _long_!"

He stared at the ground, not really paying attention to it. After a while I got tired of staring at him and shifted my gaze to the tree line we'd been approaching.

"My lady, I need…" He paused for a moment as if searching for the right word. "I need time. I most likely—I _could_ live there, possibly. But—I am used, it is true, to living in Edoras, in Meduseld, with my cousin…"

_Oh…_ I felt rather stupid for not seeing it sooner. Not only was Aldburg the place where he'd learnt of his father's death and the site of his mother's, coming so soon after, but if he moved there, it would mean living completely alone without any family for the first time in his life. Not even Éowyn would be there, not permanently. Éomer was going to be lonely, simple as that.

I felt an inane bubble of laughter rising up within me. "You, um, don't have to move in right away," I said at last rather awkwardly, having finally gotten my voice under control. "After all, reordering military structure will be hard enough without having, er, base camp moved out, too. So there's no need to _rush_ things…"

"You have a fair point," Éomer said in a rather warmer tone than before. "A fair point indeed."

He accepted the post shortly after we got back to camp. In the interests of honesty I must confess that my smile might have been rather smug.

* * *

A few days later, we rode into the valley of Harrowdale and up the steep switchback path to Dunharrow. There were a few moments on the way up when I honestly thought Mai was going to throw me, I was so twitchy and nervous. It was hard to believe that for nearly two whole months I hadn't even been in the Riddermark, let alone seen my best friend. I'd never been separated from anyone I knew for such a long time before, not even Théodred…

And then we reached the top, and Théodred was grinning and handing me down—taking care, of course, to hold on to me rather longer than was necessary (not that I minded). Captain Wilfrid stepped forward and made his report to Théodred.

Standing right behind him was a _very_ familiar face indeed. I grinned.

Elise grinned back; she looked like she wanted to say something, but obviously we couldn't have a loud reunion while official proceedings were still going on.

_Or could we?_ I glanced over at Théodred. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I myself would like to hear a report on the state of refugees themselves," I excused myself. Captain Wilfrid bowed and nodded compliantly, his face not at all letting on how he felt about matters; somebody in Elise's direction let out a sound much like a laugh being choked back at the last minute.

And then there we were, my best friend and I, reunited at last. Except…

"My lady," Elise said and swept into the most dignified curtsy I'd ever seen.

I stared at her in horror.

She started laughing. "Oh my goodness, Saffi! The look on your face!"

I found my voice. "You _curtsied_! To _me_!"

"Take care, Saffi; you'll be shouting soon," she said primly.

"You curtsied!" My voice cracked, and I had to bite my lip and look away before I did something really bad.

Elise kindly ignored this and said in a normal tone of voice, "Do I have a lot to tell _you_! And you're really going to have to get used to all that curtsying business given your intended."

I grinned a little foolishly at the thought. "So: your report?"

She sighed, and the brightness in her eyes faded a bit. "Walk with me, Saffi. We have much to discuss…"

We went down past the hall and into the uppermost caves that still housed those families who had no home to which to return. There were women, some older, many my age or thereabouts—all the wives or would-be (would have been?) wives of soldiers—and their children. There were not many boys over a certain age. Elise told me that such young men had either went off to war or had accepted offers of temporary work rebuilding farms in the north or west.

Some families, the larger ones, had already left on the wagon trains back to Wold, but others, those with smaller children, had not the manpower to rebuild and protect themselves. They thus waited here in the camps, alone, frightened, in mourning, and with no place and no one to turn to.

And then there was me.

Elise didn't do things like this for no reason: she was very specifically having me meet all these people, more people than I could possibly ever remember. –My people. They would be my people, sworn to me by dint of my husband, and as such I had a duty to take care of them.

I was starting to realize that, once again, I was in _way_ over my head.

* * *

However much I tried, I couldn't get to sleep. Finally I gave up and just put on my boots, ready to tramp around outside for as long as it took to tire me out.

After an hour, I was a bit chilled but still very much awake. What was I going to do? –No, what were _we_ going to do? Was there some sort of business that the women could work on? What about their children? And what about the children who had no one to look after them?

"Saffi?"

I jumped. "Théo? What are you doing out here?"

He put an arm round my waist companionably and steered me away from the walls so we could walk easily. I instantly felt warmer. "I could ask the same of you, love. You met with the refugees, didn't you?"

"Yes." I leaned my head against his chest and stared into the darkness ahead a bit wretchedly. "And they were all looking at me, and trying not to hope, and yet hoping all the same that I could do something for them! And I—" I waved an arm about helplessly. "I dunno."

Théodred kissed the top of my head and drew me closer. "What do you think they need? short-term only."

I considered this. "Well, they need a place to stay. Obviously not here. Maybe in Edoras?"

He nodded slowly. "All together, or rehousing them?"

"Well, all together? At least at first, so that someone's there to look after the orphans. Perhaps—" I shook my head a little blearily and tried to think straight.

"We could hire some of the war widows to run the place."

"So the money would be coming out of our coffers. That's fine for us, but I don't know if they would, er, feel entirely comfortable depending on the king so heavily. – Not after the first year, I mean." I looked up at him to see what he'd think.

"We can think about work for them later; we'll have time," Théodred mused. "In fact, we could help them chose their own trades."

It was a good plan, and the fact that we now had one, even if just a rough outline, helped settle me. We strolled along for a bit longer, and I began to wake up a bit. "Théo, not that I'm not glad you're here, but why are you up?"

"Well, I was actually coming to get you."

I stopped dead in my tracks. "_Why?_" I asked suspiciously.

He only grinned more widely and said airily, "Your brother," as if that answered everything.

I glared.

As Théo gestured me onward again, I finally paid enough attention to our surroundings to realize that we were heading back through camp, back towards the Pavilion, no less. "What do you think your brother wants to do now that he's reunited with Anwyn?"

"_Oh!_ – Wait, _now_?"

"Yes. He's very eager, your brother is."

"But—what about the wedding feast, and the song, and, and everything?" I asked, a bit bewildered.

Théodred shook his head assuredly. "Technically all a couple has to do is affirm their vows in front of their liege lord with one witness. Usually said lord is the village headman or a Knight, but since Sodred _is_ the headman, he needs someone else to officiate. And you cannot deny that I am in fact his liege."

We stopped outside the tent. "But then who officiates at _our _ceremony?"

Théodred gave me a burning look that made me flush. Then he coughed and said more normally, taking care to look straight ahead, "No one, technically. We make our vows in front of all the lords and knights and Riders and traders and everyone else who lives in Edoras—as well as everyone else who can come—in front of our people. Now, shall we?"

* * *

It was the shortest wedding ceremony I've seen in my entire life. But somehow, in less than twenty minutes, my brother and his now-wife had pledged their vows in front of none less than the King of the Mark himself, with Guards and Queen-intended as witness. Fast, yes, but also entirely legal. Sodred was married, and Béma help anyone who would deny it.

Any doubts I might have had were staunched when I caught sight of Anwyn's face. She looked as though rainbows and butterflies might suddenly pop into existence all around her. Sodred was much the same—his beaming smile was so huge that I kept half-checking around for resulting sparkles or resplendent rays of light or something.

Théodred presided with a lot more merriment than my father ever had—though it was no less solemn for all that—and cut straight to the vows. As my brother pledged to love, honor, and protect Anwyn for as long as he lived, I couldn't help but grin a bit unsteadily. It must be the smoke from the torches that was making my eyes water, I decided. Definitely the smoke…

* * *

Théo walked me back to my tent after the ceremony. I clung to his arm, a bit dizzy from the combined effects of sleepiness and his nearness. When we finally reached it, though, he balked at actually entering. This confused me.

"I'm glad you have such a high opinion of my self-control, dear," he finally whispered, "but I think it best not to test it."

If I was more awake I probably would have blushed. As it was, I grinned widely. "Who said I wanted you to have self-control?" Then I stood on tiptoe, wrapped my arms round his neck, and kissed him thoroughly. It was very hard to stop, but at the last minute I managed to do so (aided by a rather pressing need to breathe).

Even in the dark I could see his shocked expression: eyes wide and mouth actually hanging open a little. "Sweet dreams," I said warmly.

Théodred opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no sounds came out. At length he rubbed his face and managed to come up with, "Uh, yes, um, sleep, uh, well. Um. Uh. Yes."

* * *

The next day we rode in to Edoras at a leisurely pace. When we stopped at the bottom of the mountain for a light luncheon, I realized that my hands were shaking.

I was terrified.

"I'm not ready for this," I confided to Mai. She snorted as if to say, _Is anyone?_

"M'lady, are you well?" Éothain was watching me worriedly.

"I'm fine, Captain. Thanks for your concern, though." I gave him a shaky smile.

He stood nearby for a moment. Then he said quietly, "At least you have people who will welcome you with open arms."

I sighed. "I would hope that our fellow Eorlingas are more appreciative of their Riders than you seem to believe."

He smiled crookedly. "I hope so, too." He shifted on his feet rather uneasily. Then he said abruptly, "How is your friend doing?"

I whirled round on him a tad exultantly. "You _like_ her, don't you?"

He actually jumped. "What?"

"You're asking about Elise, right? You _like_ her."

Éothain pressed his lips together and looked away. At last he said softly, "It doesn't really matter, though, does it?"

"What on Arda are you talking about?"

He shrugged. "Lady Saffi, I try to keep my expectations in life … realistic."

I winced. "So you're not going to, um, pursue your best interests?"

"Lady, don't. Please." He looked at me beseechingly. And I realized that he didn't think it'd be in _her_ best interests.

I couldn't continue, not when he looked so wretched. And not when I had no real answer to give. "Sorry, Captain," I finally settled on. "It won't happen again."

Éothain shrugged. "Don't be. At least you're nice about it." Under his breath he added, "I'm not exactly looking forward to what Mother has to say about it…"

I grimaced in sympathy. But as we remounted in preparation for the final stretch up the mountain, I couldn't help but wonder whether Elise would feel the same way.

My preoccupation with Éothain's quandary served to distract me from my own less important worries; when Edoras finally came into sight, I hadn't had to time to work myself up into a proper dither. So I was able to look at things clearly. It was dirty, and a bit empty, but—

"Saffi?" I looked up at Théodred. He looked oddly nervous. "Do you—is it—" he fumbled for the right words.

"I think I can be happy here," I said honestly. It wasn't exactly reassuring, I knew. "It needs work, sure, but I think…"

"Yes?"

I blushed under his close scrutiny. "I, well, I, I think I might be looking forward to that." And even as the words came out, I realized they were absolutely true.

For a moment, I thought he might actually pull me off Mai and kiss me (and maybe more) right there in the middle of town. Worse, part of me actually wanted him to do it.

* * *

Meduseld was gorgeous. I stared and stared and then stared some more before the procession continued on to the stables. We had ridden up into the central courtyard first; when I asked why, Théodred actually turned a faint shade of pink, and Éomer grinned a little wickedly. At last Éowyn leaned over and told me in a low voice that the only reason we passed through the front courtyard was because Théodred had wanted me to get the best possible first view of my future home.

The stables were impressive—large, airy, and spacious—truly worthy of a king. Théodred showed me Mai's new stall and took me through a side passage to the main building.

We emerged in a large passage that (I learned later) connected both wings to the main Hall. "I'll give you a proper tour," Théodred promised. "But there's someone I want you to meet first." He took me down a labyrinth of corridors; many were dark and poorly-lit, further confusing my sense of direction. "Théo, where are we going?" I finally asked, his hand still tight around mine.

"Ah, here we are!" He pulled me through a small doorway.

The room was huge and bright and busy. Women of all ages bustled about, tending spits on huge fires, chopping and slicing at long tables, stacking platters with food. One woman who looked to be a few years older than Ama stood straight and confident, overseeing all with a practiced gaze. She looked small but strong.

"Saffi," Théodred said brightly, "meet our housekeeper." The look on his face spoke volumes: this woman meant a lot more to him than just keeping house; if anything, I would have called her his grandmother. She turned our way, caught sight of Théo, and bustled straight over, beaming hugely.

"Hildmar, I'd like you to meet Saffi, my future wife." His chest puffed out a little on "wife."

She looked at me closely. I tugged free of Théodred's grasp in order to give her a proper curtsy. This seemed to confuse her, but she recovered quickly and gave me a dip of her own.

Then she rounded on Théodred. After giving him a huge hug, which he returned enthusiastically, she started questioning him while I pretended to not be there.

"Who is her father? How long have you known her? Does Éowyn know? Oh, dear, she's not one of those nits from up north, is she?"

He blushed. I fought back a grin. This sounded like a story worth hearing, even if for no other reason than to him try to worm his way out of telling. "No. Not at all, Hildmar," he responded hastily. "And anyway, Lady Sorenna is from _West_fold." Because obviously that detail made all the difference.

"I've _never_ heard of him." I blinked. Suddenly she had pulled away and was eyeing him closely, worriedly. "Did you meet her the usual way?"

And then he was somehow taller than usual, and looking incredibly fierce and rather dangerous. I blinked again, not entirely sure what had just happened to effect such a transformation. _There aren't any orcs nearby or something, right?_ Clearly I was missing just a wee bit of backstory.

It was a credit to Hildmar that she did not quail at all under Théo's glare, although she did take half a step back.

"_No_," Théodred hissed and then somehow managed to yank us both into a side room where others couldn't overhear.

Once inside, he spat out, "I know what you're thinking, Hildmar, and this isn't like that at all. You do great insult to your future Queen."

I looked between them uncertainly. Should I interfere?

"Well, given your track record I certainly had to check," she snapped back, although her eyes were still concerned. "I know what goes on in these halls."

"So you _know_ that I have always been responsible about that sort of thing."

"She's _quite_ a lot younger than you."

And I _so_ did not want to find out where this was heading. "Has this got anything to do with the way he was hitting on me when we first met?" I interrupted brightly.

They both stopped and turned to glare at me. "What?" I asked rather innocently.

"Saffi…" Théodred said a bit pleadingly.

Hildmar rubbed her forehead and said, "Théodred has always been … generous with his favors."

I hastily turned my chuckle into a cough. "Does he have any children?"

That took her aback. "Of course not!" she said, looking rather affronted at the thought. "He always was a responsible lad," she added with a touch of pride.

"Well, then," I said briskly, "what's done is done. I know you have no reason to believe me, Mistress, but—" I glanced over at Théodred to see how he was doing. He was wearing a very strange look.

I turned back to Hildmar. She had a strange look on her face, too. I bit my lip and went on. "You said that he's always been responsible. So, just maybe, he's _still_ responsible now. So could you at least give him the benefit of the doubt? Cast whatever aspersions on my character you want, but don't do it to him!"

I waited. The small room remained silent. Hildmar was giving me a long, searching look. I tried to stay strong.

Then Théodred said a little thickly, "Please excuse us, Hildmar," neatly stepped right around her, and then scooped me into his arms. For a moment I thought about trying to stop him, but instead of kissing me like I had thought, he just held me close, head bowed slightly and eyes closed. I wrapped my arms around his waist tightly and leaned in.

When he finally let go, my head felt a little fuzzy; I had no idea how long we'd been standing there. Hildmar was no longer with us. _When did she leave?_ I wondered vaguely.

"Saffi," Théo said at last, arms still loosely around me, "She was right, you know."

"What?" I was very confused.

"Hildmar," he said slowly, as if explaining things to a child. "Everything she said about me was _true_."

I thought at first that I was trembling. Then, after a moment's consideration, I realized _he_ was. His voice was slightly choked, and the expression on his face was one of extreme fear and guilt. "I'm an ass, Saffi!" he went on. "I was trying to get you to sleep with me just like all those other girls, not because I even thought you were especially pretty or anything but just because I was horny and thought it would be fun! and _what if the person you're in love with doesn't actually exist?_"

I pulled out of his arms unthinkingly and stared at him. He really meant it. Béma help us, he _meant_ it.

"You didn't think I couldn't figure out what you were up to when we first met?" I asked quietly. "You think I fell in love with the ideal older man who happened to be rich and powerful because, _hey, that's every girl's fantasy, right_? Do you really think so little of me?"

He froze at that, his eyes all round and panicky. If the situation were any less tense I would have found it hilarious. As it was, I couldn't decide if I wanted to punch him or kiss him. Instead I turned and stared at the wall in an effort to calm down and figure out just WHAT ON ARDA I was supposed to DO in such an utterly CRAZY … oh, dear, now I was starting to panic; as a result, I almost missed what he muttered next:

"If we were already married, this is the point where I'd be sleeping on the floor for the next week, isn't it?"

I whirled round and stared at him.

Théo stared back rather guiltily. "Sorry."

"For what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Well, I _do _know, but—so much. What I said just now, and everything mean I've said… For acting the way I did when we first met, for being—"

_For being a jerk?_

Béma help me, I almost said it. And then that little voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Elise scolded, _That's mean, Sorenna. True, but mean. The question is: how much do you want to hurt him?_

I didn't.

So I kissed him instead. Because I love him, and it was what he needed. What we both needed.

* * *

Théodred and I didn't see much of each other for the next few weeks; the most we got were a few walks around the city Wall on the evenings he was home. He was busy traveling about the countryside, especially Wold, checking on crops and taking his Riders on rebuilding projects. I, on the other hand, stayed put (for the most part) in Edoras. We had to deal with the refugees, inform and then help out the war-widows and their families, and at least begin restoring Meduseld.

The Golden Hall was in a state of deep disrepair. Éowyn said grimly that although it had undergone surface cleaning when Wormtongue was ousted, there hadn't been a proper carpenter up from the city for several years, and the deeper layers of grime hadn't even been touched. Some of the cobwebs in the rooms at the end of the Wings looked like they had been there for at least a decade.

I learned all this on my second full day in Meduseld. Hildmar, although not overly welcoming, had offered to give me a tour. I asked if Éowyn could accompany us, and after a moment's consideration Hildmar had assented rather enigmatically, giving me a close look when she thought I couldn't see.

Early the next morning, after a quick breakfast in the Hall, Hildmar led us down the North Wing corridor, telling the uses for each room and pointing out places in need of special attention; this Wing looked out over the plains and thus served as quarters for the family and more important guests. Both wings were later additions to the main body of Meduseld, built by Frёawine King to house his growing Court. The King's Quarters were right off the Hall in Meduseld itself, but the rooms for family and private councils were in the North Wing. They were attached to the hall by enclosed stairways leading down just below the level of the Hall. In this way, Frёawine had extended the royal buildings without in any way obstructing the original structure of Meduseld. Both wings had two floors and then cellars (and tunnels) built into the mountain. Since Meduseld faced East, the wings were to the north and south of the building and had been named thus through years of practice.

As we went down the first-floor corridor, Éowyn began to draw steadily closer to us, her pace faltering. This end was lit only poorly, with dark furnishings and an icy draft; despite the approach of summer, up here on the mountaintop, the breezes stayed cold. I began to get a bad feeling about this, especially when she paused outside a small bedroom at the very end of the way.

Hildmar pursed her lips and moved closer to Éowyn's other side.

At last Éowyn said, "This was my room. – Not at first. _He_ moved me down here. '_To keep me safe'_, it was," she added bitterly. "My brother and cousin got to stay, all the way back there." She jerked her head in the direction of the opposite end of the hallway.

"Should we go on?" I asked quietly.

She shook her head mutely. Hildmar and I waited, tense and worried. Then she reached forward stiffly and pushed open the door.

Whatever I had been expecting, this was not it. The room was huge. I looked around for torch sconces and found none but two at the very far end othe chamber. They would have cast only a small circle of light around the far end of the bed. My overall impression was of dark and damp—and a certain lack of exits…

Éowyn took a few steps forward and stopped. Then she stepped back out, closed the door with a bit more force than absolutely necessary, and said in a perfectly steady voice, "When we clean, that bed should be burnt. It's beyond repair, I think."

* * *

The end of the wing opened onto a bright multi-level yard sloping upwards back towards Meduseld proper. The uppermost level was similar to that ornamental garden of the Houses of the Healing back in Minas Tirith, the one in which Éowyn and Faramir had spent so much time. On the lower levels, next to what Hildmar said was an entrance to the kitchens, was an herb and vegetable garden. It looked healthier than the pleasure garden, but that wasn't saying much; both were bedraggled and neglected.

We went on around the edge of the garden. The far western end had a low wall with seats cut into it; near the southern corner was a small gate with a path leading down toward the city below. It was a nice view.

The South Wing held more Guest Quarters as well as rooms for Lords and the King's Advisers. There were also storerooms for cloths and foodstuffs. "The Wings are mostly residential," Hildmar told me. "The kitchens are in Meduseld, and the servants and Guard sleep in the rooms in Meduseld, the ones around the sides of the Hall."

We went out the front entrance into the courtyard I'd first seen, formed by the front extensions of the Wings and the steps leading up to the front entrance.

"As you know," Éowyn said with a slight smirk, "the stables are around the right on the south side. Those buildings next to it are the Riders' quarters."

I had wondered about them. "Why have additional quarters?"

"If extra éoreds are stationed in the city, or are even just passing through, and don't have someone to stay with, they go to the official quarters here. That way there's no need for forced quartering, and the Riders aren't forced to stay in camps," Éowyn told me. "I told Faramir about this, and I think he wants to set up something similar for his Rangers in Ithilien. I'll have to remember to show him…"

I grinned. For a moment, I caught a flash of teeth from Hildmar, and I had the sudden feeling that she had reacted the exact same way.

* * *

Hildmar and I reached a definite truce at the end of my first week after an incident with some drunken carpenters. I tended to be hastier than her, but our instincts in managing the household were much the same, so, aside from her continued suspicion and my own unease, we actually got along rather well. We developed a schedule: we would meet in the mornings and go over our plans for the day; then we would meet again in the evening, about an hour or so before supper, and discuss our successes (or lack thereof). And indeed there was much to discuss: food distribution and possible rationing (it is us two, after all, who have control over the royal Stores), the project of the orphanage (which required some tutelage in the bureaucracy of moving funds), and of course how Meduseld's renovations were progressing. Carpenters were called in for the big jobs, but our own staff had its work cut out: cleaning, refurbishing, and sometimes simply gutting out long-distended rooms, especially those at the far ends and upper floors of the wings, where people rarely ventured (especially during Wormtongue's later years). Hildmar's face was unreadable when she found me scrubbing floors alongside the maids. I knew it was most undignified for a Queen, but I wasn't a Queen yet, and this action simultaneously endeared me to the workers and allowed me to get to know them personally before our stations yawned too far apart. Not to mention that although we'd managed to hire a few more maids, we still were shortstaffed, and since I knew the work, it only made sense for me to pitch in.

Much less enjoyable was the task of visiting the homes of fallen Riders to officially tell their wives and families. They already knew, of course, but Hildmar had agreed that it would be better to visit them myself as well. She helped me put together baskets of food and goods that would at least get them through the funeral and weeks immediately following, and we planned on further visits throughout the summer and fall to ensure they would make it through the winter.

Elise worked with me, but just as often as not she was busy with duties of her own; nevertheless we both made time for walks through the city. We wandered about the first few days, not really worrying about getting lost, for we kept to the populated parts and had no fear of asking our way from residents. After the first week we changed tactics and started trying to get lost on purpose, avoiding the Rider quarter (so named because it held the homes of many Riders of the Guard and Wold éoreds) and going to the Merchants quarter or following the sounds of blacksmithing. I began to get to know my new home, and what I saw pleased me: the daily improvement as more families began making their way back and businesses reopened, but also the people themselves.

No, that was a lie—I was falling in love with Edoras even then_. Perhaps_, I remember thinking one evening as Elise and I wended our tired way back up to Meduseld,_ it will become a home even faster than Théodred could hope for_.

* * *

Then, somehow, the North Wing was finally finished—floors, walls, and ceilings newly scrubbed clean of dirt and soot; new torches freshly lit; and guest quarters restored (complete with new bedding, blankets of the highest quality, and tapestries cleaned and re-embroidered). We had even burnt Éowyn's bed; after dragging it out to the courtyard and piling it with what few things of Wormtongue's survived, Théodred covered it with oil, Éomer lit the torch, and Éowyn had tossed the torch wearing a look of utter satisfaction.

Now Hildmar and I both stood in the middle of hallway for a while, staring in awe at how pretty everything looked. "Now if we can just finish repatching the roof…" I muttered.

She turned and realized I was doing the same thing as her. "Lady," she said at last, a hint of amusement in her eyes, "it's going as well as can be expected."

"I know," I sighed. "I'm just worried that we won't be finished with the restorations when the Elves come."

She pursed her lips. "If we're not good enough for them, their loss. Don't you go throwin' yourself about just on some magical folks' account."

I held back a smile. "If you say so, Mistress Hildmar."

She paused mid-step and turned back round to face me. "Lady, this whole 'Mistress' business is getting a bit old. You're not going to win any points with _me_ doing that. So stop it and just call me Hildmar." And with a muttered "hmph" she was on her way.

I couldn't help but openly grin this time.

* * *

Two nights later, Théodred and I did not go for our usual walk round the defensive Wall of Edoras; instead we went down to Hildmar's office. I snuck a glance at him as we walked; his relationship with her was still a bit stiff, especially around me.

"My Riders and I will go north tomorrow, along with Lord Elrohir and Lord Elladan, regardless of Meduseld's status," he said at last, not looking entirely happy about such a fact; "I just wanted to see how things are going, so as what to expect when we get back."

I looked at Hildmar. Hildmar looked at me. "Actually, things are progressing rather nicely," I told him. "All the immediate repairs are done, and things like re-thatching the roof can wait. – Er, Hildmar, you know more about the household particulars than I."

She took the hint. "The North Wing is finished completely, and a good portion of the South Wing is completed as well, so there'll be more than enough guest space, although personal quarters for the family, Guard, and servants, as well as some of the Advisers, are still a bit cramped."

Théodred looked at her closely. "You can leave the King's chambers till later. But what about the Queen's? Haven't you started on those yet? The East Wing can wait."

Hildmar looked a little embarrassed. "That's not her fault," I stepped in. "I ordered her to take care of the rest of Meduseld first. And you're going to need those meeting rooms. The work rooms were easy enough to restore, and this way you can have private sessions with your advisors as necessary."

He sighed. "If you say so, love."

For a moment I could have sworn there was a smile on Hildmar's face, but then it vanished so quickly I thought I must have just imagined it. Instead she said, wearing a strangely respectful look on her face, "My lord, is there anything else you wish us to do?"

Théodred blinked. "No, you've done very well, both of you. Well, I guess there's nothing more to be done here. Thank you, Hildmar." Then he stood and stepped around the table. "_Thank you_."

Hildmar took his hands tentatively. "Oh, my dear boy…" Théodred smiled back warmly, and I stepped out of the office to give them some much-needed time together.

* * *

Théo and his Guards departed in a flurry of Official Outfits and last-minute instructions for their return. A few of the younger maids (i.e. my age) sighed a little heavily at the absence of the two Elf lords. Elise made a comical swooning-face at me, which gave me a fit of giggles. Hildmar, who had happened to catch our exchange, did not laugh, although she did conveniently develop a rather suspiciously timed cough.

Sodred joined me for luncheon with news of his own. Apparently Alricsloft was not only completely repaired, but Sodred's own house (the new Headman's seat, and built rather differently than Father's old one) was nearing completion. This, combined with Sodred's release from the Riders (and the official appointment as Western Ambassador), meant that he could finally go home and, more importantly, begin married life with Anwyn in earnest.

I had just managed to stop giggling helplessly when he appeared at my side, bouncing with excitement. A few giggles returned at the sight of my King's Western Ambassador doing a spot-on impression of an eager puppy.

"Saffi, guess what?" Sodred beamed.

"You've all been released?" I drawled in my best ignore-the-crazy-brother manner.

"Exactly! Saffi, we're going _home_!"

He said it with such exuberance, too. I blinked as I tried to translate Sodred-speak into a more normal tongue. "You and Anwyn are going back to, uh, Alricsloft?"

Sodred grimaced. "Sorry. I forgot about that; Edoras is _your_ home now, isn't it?" He looked around the Hall and frowned briefly before turning back to me with a half-smile. "You've sure got your work cut out for you, sis."

I frowned back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He chuckled. "Silly! Don't give me that look! You like it. You're going to love it, Saffi." He swept me up into another crushing bear-hug. A chuckling sound came from Hildmar's direction and then was hurriedly cut off.

I ignored it and hugged him tightly. "Be good now, Sodred. Don't go running into trouble."

"Oh, no, Saffi," he teased back, "that's _your_ job."

* * *

And then very soon—too soon—Sodred and Ælfred and Anselm and all the rest were riding away, riding west back to Alricsloft without me. I didn't want to go back. I was happy here. And it wasn't like Sodred and I had even spent a heck of a lot of time together lately. So why did I suddenly feel so lonely?

I walked back inside, trying very hard not to get teary or anything, to find Elise waiting and watching me closely. "You're not wholly without family, Saffi," she said a bit tartly as we went down the stairs to the North Wing. "I've got a feeling you already have more friends here than you know."

I bit my lip. "And anyway, I guess I could likely see him before the end of the year."

She raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"If we're certain as can be that the Mark will be able to make it through the winter…" I muttered.

She winked. "A bit eager, are we?"

I sighed. "I know there isn't enough information yet, but…"

Elise nodded. "You're right: there isn't enough information yet, not to say conclusively. But, Saffi, looking at the reports," with a conspiratorial grin, "I'd at least start planning if I were you."

* * *

A/N: So, about Meduseld... I'm sure somebody's going to want to yell at me about the structure, so I might as well talk about it. Peter Jackson's Meduseld is _small_. There's just not that much _space_, and definitely not enough for a King's court. I know Viking warriors didn't have giant castles. But from reading _Beowulf_, I know that in order to make up for the smallness, there were a whole bunch of small buildings surrounding the hall where people actually slept. I feel like the Rohirrim would be a bit cooler than that (i.e. not wanting to have to travel outdoors just to go to sleep), so the buildings are long, positioned on either side of Meduseld, and connected to it by covered/enclosed walkways (kind of like a covered bridge but prettier). These buildings are the North and South Wings (so named because they're north and south of Meduseld). Tolkien doesn't give me anything, so I went with Jackson's portrayal and assumed that Meduseld is aligned with the mountain range (kind of), or roughly east-west (or southeast-northwest, to accurately match the maps). I like the idea of Meduseld facing east (so that when you open the doors you're facing the rising sun), so east it is.


	37. Power Plays and Pretty People

Disclaimer: Like you don't know by now that if it looks like it's Tolkien's, most likely it is.

* * *

So I planned. I waited. As families returned, Edoras began to feel more like a lived-in city instead of a ghost town, and I only rarely got lost on my way to the kitchens instead of getting lost at least once a with the cleaning nearly done (and Hildmar not allowing me into either King's or Queen's Quarters "until I was wedded"), I spent much of my free time in the gardens, where Éowyn began to join me regularly; she was very stubborn about it, and I couldn't help but pity whatever weeds crossed her path.

I usually split my free time between Éowyn and Elise, who never did become the best of friends. I think they were too alike in pride and temper. Combined with Elise's irreverence clashing against Éowyn's willingness to use her status freely, it meant that whenever together, things could easily disintegrate into a barely friendly and extremely combative state. And since they liked different things anyway, it was easier just to divide activities between them. Éowyn wanted to learn about tending plants and healing but still loved the sword, so I gardened and sparred with her. With Elise I discussed people and scrolls and all of the things we had always talked about, as well as kingdom-related topics like trade and the status of food supplies. It turned out to be a good work schedule, too, and it helped me organize my thoughts about different aspects of my duties.

* * *

The members of the King's Council (along with many who wanted to be) must have all received a group message or something, because one summer afternoon my lunch break was interrupted by the arrival of a veritable horde of Lords and their wives and retinues, descending on us much like I assumed the Dark Lord's forces had descended upon Minas Tirith. The poor errand boy who had been sent to fetch me from the stables was still reeling from merely witnessing Éowyn's wrath, and I had to keep myself from reacting much the same way as she (I didn't want to permanently scar the lad).

As I entered the hall, I was still feeling a little guilty after making such a comparison, albeit only mentally, since the very thought of the siege still brought up too many wounds; then some of the more uppity lords' servants started trying to run roughshod over Hildmar (with the Lords pretending Hildmar did not exist and their Ladies giving everyone rather condescending looks), and I couldn't help but feel that although the comparison might be unkind, it was still incredibly apt. Quite a few veterans had come in for luncheon from working on repairs to the barracks, and some stayed on the benches awkwardly while others now stood strategically near Hildmar to back her up against the newcomers. Éowyn was standing in a corner seething, and Elise was right next to her wearing a carefully blank expression. _They really _are_ angry_, I realized, since there was no way either woman would have stood so close to each other if not united against a common opponent like this.

I carefully slid back into the passage without anyone noticing and went on so that I re-entered the hall right behind my friends.

"So who sent the invitation without informing us?" I asked while peering over Elise's shoulder at the commotion.

"_No one!_" Éowyn hissed. Even though I knew her temper wasn't directed at me, part of me still wanted to quail in the face of her renowned temper.

Elise's voice was also expressionless. Instead she said coolly, "I don't think they were invited here specifically; rather their friends in Edoras sent the invites, and they decided to announce their arrival to us all at once to see how well you and your hospitality respond. So how are we going to deal with this, Saffi?"

I blinked. Six months ago it had _me_ asking _her_ for advice. How far we'd come, indeed.

"We…?" I supposed Éowyn could yell at them, but I doubted that would help much. "Tell you what," I decided, "I'm going to invite them to stay here instead. Wish me luck!" _Also it would be nice if you felt a similar sentiment, Béma, and did I mention how grateful I am that my skirts didn't get dirty in the stable?_

And even as Elise's mask cracked and dropped, leaving behind a look of equal parts shock, admiration, and fear, I stalked directly toward the dais and went up onto the first level so that I was positioned directly in front of the Throne.

I allowed myself one cursory glance over the crowd. Then I announced, "Welcome to Meduseld, my Lords, Ladies," pitching my voice so that it would carry over their infernal chatter. I kept my chin high like when I'd addressed Arnalit.

It seemed to work, if only somewhat: many of the lords (and all of the ladies and servants) stopped speaking, although a few turned my way but continued their conversations in lowered voices. I held back a scowl. _Two can play at this game..._ "We are sure it will please you all to know that Our renovations are so far ahead of schedule that there are more than enough quarters to host even the most unexpected guests."

The jab certainly got their attention even if my presence alone hadn't. Several of the more polite lords had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed; I made certain to note the faces of those who did not. The ladies' gazes were studiously blank, but I sensed that they were appraising me closely.

"I am of course pleased to have the opportunity to meet those of whom my future Cousin has spoken so … _eloquently_," I continued, with a nod in Éowyn's direction. She blinked and then choked slightly as what I'd said (or rather, what I _hadn't_) sank in.

"Now, I believe introductions are in order?" I said smartly, looking to a soldier nearby.

It turned out to be Eadric. He gave me a smart bow in return (accompanied by what I felt sure was a bit of a smirk) before turning to the crowd. "Lady Saffi Sorenna of Westfold," he announced crisply, "Théodred King's Betrothéd." This was technically not yet the appropriate title for Théo since he had not yet been crowned, but I wasn't about to correct Eadric giving me even a bit of extra status, if only by proxy.

Murmurs went through the crowd. I smiled back as beautifically as I could. I figured it had to be working since Eadric still had that conspiratorial smirk dancing on his lips.

Then Lord Cenred (and I had no idea why he was even here since he'd arrived with the army and had been staying in his own quarters outside of Meduseld) stepped forward. "My lady," he intoned and sank into a deep bow reserved for greeting royalty. I bit my tongue and held out a hand to him—_and oh Béma I don't know if you find this amusing but please let me don't screw up too badly since I have absolutely NO IDEA what I'm doing_—which, of course, forced him to rise to bow over it properly. "Well met, Lord Cenred," I smiled honestly, and then added so only he could hear, "It is good to see you again, Sir—and I am not Queen yet."

He shook his head slightly as if to warn me off and then straightened. In the same low tone he replied with a straight face, "But you are as good as Queen already; and I figured they could use an example to start things off."

_So, an ally—or he supports Théo at least—but more importantly, he's not against me. One down—_I looked around_—only forty or so to go…_ But that was all I really needed, it seemed, since Lord Cenred's presence nearby—not exactly supporting me, but definitely facing against those still giving me derisive looks—was enough to make all back down for now and greet me properly. Somehow I managed to make the acquaintance of some of the highest-ranking men and women of the land, Lords and Ladies of the House of Eorl, descended from royal blood and, although not necessarily wielding much power, always in possession of much land.

After the first few introductions (which included some of the stuffiest people present), Éowyn appeared at my side with a surprisingly un-faked smile. "You're doing quite well, Cousin," she murmured into my ear. "Don't tell Elise, but after your show, their awkwardness _is_ rather amusing."

While we all Met and Mingled (with me trying not to spend too much time with any one Lord without dissing him by not spending enough time), Hildmar and her staff made short shrift of the servants. I didn't have her bring refreshments since, however rude their arrivals, proper host etiquette stated that they would probably want to retreat to their rooms to change and recover as soon as possible.

Instead I had barely gotten through small talk with everyone and his wife (literally) when personal servants began returning and standing attentively nearby, and one by one the lords and ladies began excusing themselves. I wasn't sure whether to be angry or pleased that most of the visitors had not accepted my invitation; from Cenred's approving look, though, I figured this was a good thing resulting from their shame at their actions rather than being another snub.

At last I nodded the last of them out the front entrance as they headed back to the city, and waited a good minute for them all to get out of earshot. Then I plopped down on the nearest bench and thought very seriously about drinking a whole mug of our strongest ale.

Eadric was now wearing a full-fledged grin. Éowyn had just accompanied a group of the visitors from Edoras out the door, and from the predatory look in her eyes, I _really_ didn't want to know what she was saying to them right now.

I thought about having mead instead of ale.

"Let's go for a walk, Saffi," Elise said gently, and tugged at my arm. I followed her lead blindly, swept up in my thoughts…

Because I had recognized some of those lords. I was pretty sure that most had ridden forth with Théoden King, and although much of the army had peeled off to go straight home, a good portion had come to Edoras. Not a few lords, like Cenred, had long made Edoras their permanent seat. And there had been several others in the crowd who at first just looked vaguely familiar until I recognized them, too, from those Lords who had traveled all the way back to Meduseld with us instead of going home to their own seats. They had had no reason to join the others in arriving unexpected and uninvited on my doorstep, however accustomed they might have been to doing so in the past.

Those lords already staying in Meduseld or in Edoras had known what was going to happen. They had either been informed—or, I realized with a sinking heart, they had helped plan. And why? I thought of Cenred's calculated bow, the way he'd been sizing me up just as I'd been sizing him: it was a test. They were testing me; maybe not all of them, but even those not part of the scheme had known of it and arrived with the others to see how I did.

_Did I do something horribly wrong to deserve this, Béma?_

"Saffi..."

I blinked and tried to focus on my surroundings. We were outside in the gardens.

"Saffi, wake up!" Elise slapped my shoulder jokingly—and _grinned_. "I don't know how you did it, but that was quite impressive. Really. I bow down before your wit. And your royalty."

I sighed and sank down onto the nearest bench; since our arms were still linked, this meant that she got dragged down with me. "Is it always going to be like that?"

Elise shrugged and sobered back up. "Some, yeah; that's politics for you. But I don't think it will be quite so horrible. You impressed the ones on your side and those still on the fence; and as for the others, well, they'll think twice about pulling such a foolish stunt again. Plus, in the future you'll have even more allies to help you out."

"You mean there were actually Lords on my side in there? Because it sure didn't look like it to me."

She frowned. "I saw some of them. The lesser lords, especially, or those who have served the King directly, like Cenred, were angry. Didn't you hear what they were saying? They were trying to get those jerks to leave. And it turned out just as well—nothing they could had said would have been half so effective as you were."

I sighed. Looking at it objectively, Elise was right, of course. That didn't lessen my anger at the lords' blatant machinations and utter rudeness, though. I stared out at the bright blue sky and thought about Théodred. He was going to be utterly furious when he found out. If he found out. –_Should I even tell him?_

"Saffi," Elise said in a hesitant voice, "I am sorry I couldn't do anything for you in there."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "There wasn't really much to do." But even as I said that, I couldn't help but feel the sting from her absence. Not once had she come to my side like Éowyn had done.

"I could have joined you instead of staying in the back," she admitted in an eerie echo of my thoughts.

I tried to imagine myself in her shoes—best friend to the future Queen but herself of no real standing—and I knew that Elise, however much she deserved it, was still worried about her new post of Adviser, worried that Théodred had favored her not for her own worth but because of me. Barging in this morning would have done nothing but weaken her own precarious status, make me weak and reliant on others in the lords' eyes, and possibly even undermine Théodred's support base. Éowyn's presence had been a tacit Royal acceptance, showing that Théodred was not alone in his decision. Elise's presence would have done nothing but raise more questions about outsiders and why I needed so much help rather than stand on my own.

If our roles were reversed, what would I have done?

I didn't really like her decision, but neither could I have honestly said I would have done differently—and really, who was I to talk when I had been the one to leave her in charge of an entire refugee camp with only six hours' notice and absolutely no real experience or authority to drawn upon?

"It would be a bit hypocritical of me to be mad at you about that," I teased. "There's not really anything to forgive."

She smiled back at me rather weakly. "Thank you. But—" and then she suddenly kneeled before me—"I swear I shall do all in my power to personally support you, Saffi. I can't promise to unconditionally support your politics if we absolutely disagree, but I will never attack you or disavow you. I am Your lady."

I bit my lip to keep back tears. "Elise, get up, please! I don't—I don't want a supporter or a follower or _any_ of that, I want my friend!..."

She jumped up. "I am your friend, silly, and as your friend—no, Saffi, hear me when I say this—you need those other things too, and it would be rather remiss of me not to be those other things as your friend."

I sniffled and then hugged her. For once she didn't tease but simply hugged me back. "You passed the first test, Saffi," she told me, "and we'll pass them all, never you fear."

I smiled as we released each other, thankful beyond words that I had such a friend as her.

"I know this is your line," Elise said after a moment, "but I kind of wish Prince—King—whatever—Théodred was here."

"Are you kidding me?" I grinned. "He'd have probably bitten all their heads off. Possibly literally."

"I can see it now," Elise said dramatically: "Him roaring wordlessly at the affront to his beloved, that ponce with the oiled mustache cowering in the corner, everybody else running around like chickens whose heads were just chopped off…"

We dissolved into helpless giggles.

* * *

The Royal Horde (as I called them—Elise called them the Royal Herd, and Hildmar couldn't seem to choose between the two) had only been settled in Edoras for a few days when a messenger arrived mid-luncheon.

I was not seated at the royal table—in spite of everything it still felt too presumptuous for words—but rather at the next ranking table immediately below, and for some reason the few lords staying in Meduseld (or visiting for unknown reasons) had all followed suit. Elise was on my right as usual (because apparently no man but Théodred or my father or brother ought to sit on my right), and today Lord Cynulf and his wife were sitting on my left; I had been very careful to sit near a different lord at each meal so as to get to know everyone equally, a system of which both Elise and Cenred seemed to approve. Éowyn had just rolled her eyes when I'd asked and muttered something along the lines of how I was clearly a much nicer person than she and that, if it were up to her, they could go eat in the stables for all she cared. I still could not tell how much Cenred was really on my side, but after some consideration (and some stints in the training yards to get out all the leftover anger) I had decided that it did not really matter as long as it furthered my own interests.

I had only just realized that I had no idea what the proper etiquette for receiving a messenger even was when Hildmar hustled the man into a sideroom. I decided to keep eating until Hildmar let me know she was ready. And soon enough, a maid scurried over, curtsying an awful lot, to say that the messenger waited on "my Lady's pleasure." I excused myself from the table and went in.

The messenger got to his feet and bowed as I entered. I nodded back and then frowned. He didn't look like a typical messenger. In fact, he looked much more like—

"Well met, Saffi," Éomer grinned, shrugging off the thick cloak and hood that had obscured his features. "Théodred _really_ wishes it was him doing this, but I don't think it would be very politik of him to abandon such illustrious guests."

I couldn't help but grin back at such unexpected enthusiasm from Éomer of all people. "Did everything go well? And did you get a chance to look at how upper Wold's doing? What does the crop look—"

"Saffi," he interrupted, "I really have no idea, and I'm not the person to ask, especially since I was present not as commander of Eastfold but as the King's cousin and current Heir presumptive."

I flushed. "Sorry."

"No, no, it's fine," he waved it off. "How are you? How is my sister? – I noticed you've received some Council visitors."

"Yes, greatly anticipated, I'm sure," I muttered.

"Oh, no," Éomer said in sudden understanding. "They just showed up, didn't they?"

"What, is this a thing?" I shot back and then regretted my tone. "Sorry. The last few days have been rather stressful, especially since Éowyn knows politics but hates it and Hildmar operates on a whole different level and Cenred…well, who knows what he wants!"

Éomer looked a little alarmed. "I don't think I'm the best person to help you…"

I grinned. "Well of course not. Nothing personal, but I don't want to marry _you_."

He chuckled. "Oh, no, my lady, how could you say such a thing? I am absolutely wounded, truly."

"So how many more people are we going to be hosting?"

He blinked. "Not that many. Twenty? Thirty? Maybe more?"

"That's not very helpful."

"Technically there are thirty-five visitors, but most of them are the equivalent of a formal escort—but then again I don't know if it's a good idea to house Elves alongside mere human Riders."

I winced and wondered why someone as smart as Éomer would have even entertained such a foolish notion. "So rooms for everyone." Hopefully we had the space and staffing to make it happen.

* * *

Eventually we managed to prepared enough rooms for everyone and his brother, just in case. After all, as Elise said, it wasn't every day that Elves visited Edoras, even if it was only for a few nights. As in: we were making history, so why not do it politely?

I figured politeness also couldn't hurt when most of the Elves had lived longer than we Eorlingas had resided in the Riddermark. I tried to comprehend the vastness of such a swath of time and only got a headache for my pains. Not that our illustrious visitors weren't nice. On the contrary, they were unfailingly polite, astoundingly pleasant (and appreciative of their quarters), and, for the most part, not at all condescending towards us mere mortals.

There were several, though, who were especially impressive: the Lord Elrond, his parents-in-law Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, and his daughter Lady Arwen. They were all gorgeous, of course, in the same way of Legolas's otherworldly beauty. But Lady Undomiel… Cenred, who had the great ability of insulting or amusing with the same straight face, looked absolutely flabbergasted when he first saw her, and poor Eadric's jaw literally dropped (Elise had to elbow him twice, hard, to close his mouth). But (once I'd gotten over her beauty) I realized that she didn't seem to have many friends with her—she spent most of her time with or near her father, and the other women (excepting her grandmother, of course) addressed her formally, not as friends would. Of course, asking a friend to go live with you in a foreign country and culture among humans would, I supposed, strain any relationship, but still!...

Éowyn looked a bit shaken upon first seeing Lady Arwen but soon resumed a wry equanimity. "I guess I had good reason to be jealous of her, then, and not just for his sake," she muttered to me during the welcoming feast; it was a loud affair since, although human-Elf conversations were not exactly rowdy, we had entertainers and musicians present who kept spirits high. Then she shook her head ruefully and added, "I hope she doesn't know about my little infatuation with her intended."

I had a feeling she did, though, given that later in the evening, when the meal had ended and a more party-like atmosphere pervaded, she somehow managed to have a very long discussion with Éowyn that started with the latter wearing a very red face and ended with them laughing at something like old friends. After that, Éowyn looked at the older woman with something akin to respect and, perhaps more importantly, something else that looked a lot like friendship.

* * *

The Elves left shortly after; they had a wedding to attend, after all. Théodred and I had been invited, but there was still much work to be done here before Théo would even consider leaving the country. So he and his men simply escorted them to the border with Gondor and then came right back home. (Home: somewhere in those weeks Meduseld had become my home. The thought made me shiver with fear and joy at the same time.)

Théo's reaction upon learning about the Lords' arrivals was alarmingly close to what Elise had imagined. I think it was harder for him than me since he had known them for so long, and to see such a lack of trust shook him.

It was an uncertain time for me but also fulfilling—stressful since I was building relationships with some of the people I would work with and live with for the rest of my life, but wonderful because Théodred and I were getting to know each other, all those little details and quirks that can only be learnt (and sometimes only surface) when two people live together and see each other in the quiet private hours as well as the public. I had had no idea that one could fall even more in love with someone that she already loved, but I seemed to be doing a very good job at it.

The first crop of the summer came in, and Hildmar and I began to seriously discuss the logistics of an October wedding. On Midsummer's Eve Théo and I jumped the fire together after officially announcing our betrothal. Elise did not jump the fire with anyone, but she did spend much of the evening dancing with Éothain, so I counted it as a success anyway. I had no idea how she had gotten him to ask her to be his partner when he had been so reluctant to even attend, but I thought it had something to do with how much time they'd been spending together recently. Neither had actively sought out the other (at least not at first), but they had rather inevitably drifted together and began arguing in an all-too familiar fashion.

Elise herself had integrated well into the Council, wielding the great tool of Logic with deadly accuracy. I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but the Council meetings turned out to be not very different from the gatherings held at Cormallen. Cenred was turning out to be a staunch ally (Théo told me privately that he thought I'd fully won Cenred over with the way I'd handled the unexpected guests), and although there were of course some Lords who still looked at me askance, most were at least willing to treat me as an equal and honestly consider what I had to say. It wasn't exactly fun work, but I did sometimes get a feeling of utter fulfillment, as if for a job worth doing and well done.

About a week after Midsummer, Théo traveled back to Minas Tirith to commence the funeral escort of Théoden King back to Edoras for burial. I figured it would be a rather quiet month or so, sandwiched between the Elves' brief visit and the funeral and Théodred's official coronation.

Apparently Béma had other plans. Or, more specifically, Sodred did.

* * *

A/N: Another long wait. Sorry, guys. My muse is capricious and free time is fleeting (and more often nonexistent). In other news, this story is starting wind down at long last. I'm not sure how many chapters are left, but it won't be many. And as always, thanks for reading! Your story views are much appreciated :)


	38. Placing Bets

Disclaimer: We're on the 38th chapter and I still don't own LOTR. Alas and alack.

* * *

The summers here at Edoras were much cooler than those I was used to back on the plains, which made sense seeing as the city _is_ on top of a mountain. I had to admit that it was awfully nice being able to train without having already broken into a sweat just walking to the yards. On the other hand, the thin air had really done a number on my stamina.

Éowyn had agreed to a sparring session, sword versus dagger, and we were having a good time trying to kill each other when Cenred showed up. I was already sweating buckets, but Éowyn looked cool as ever. I tried not to let it get to me, but her easy demeanor actually _was_ pretty annoying, especially when combined with her constant taunts; she was one of those fighters who attacked their opponents verbally as well as physically.

"Cute move, Cousin! Maybe that would have fooled a _five_-year-old." The insult was accompanied by a swift slice at my ribs that would have split me right in two had it landed. Instead I dodged away, spinning around and out of reach, and went to launch myself at her back.

"I hate to interrupt, but a Herald has arrived," Cenred announced, stepping a little uncertainly into the training arena.

I stopped mid-blow and nearly lost my balance. Éowyn, on the other hand, finished her move's follow-through before facing him and asking, "An official Herald? not just a messenger?"

Meanwhile I flailed my arms wildly, left foot still off the ground. I tipped forwards and managed to get my foot down to (barely) prevent a face plant.

"Definitely a Herald," Cenred affirmed and then looked to me as if for direction. I scrambled to my feet and quickly stood up straight like Éowyn. "From Westfold."

I tugged my tunic into place and sheathed my daggers in a bid for time, using the moment to think about why exactly Sodred would be coming to Edoras in his official capacity so soon after leaving the city, especially since last time we'd spoken he hadn't wanted to leave Anwyn for a long, _long_ time. The only good reason was for some diplomatic mission, but even then he wouldn't need the Herald unless he was bringing someone with—

_OH NO._ I stopped dead in my tracks, the last dagger hovering right above its sheath.

Cenred and Éowyn gave me wary looks.

I bit my lip and tried not to break into hysterics—whether frantic laughter or sobs, I wasn't sure. Béma was clearly going to have a field day over in Valinor; _but at least _someone_ will have fun with this…_

"Saffi, what's going on?" Éowyn asked suspiciously. I must have been standing stock-still in the yard longer than I'd thought since she was now almost at the gate next to Cenred.

"My lady," he said slowly, "do you know what—or whom—your brother is heralding?"

I wondered how Elise would react when she found out: probably stand up and cheer. Hildmar, on the other hand, was not going to be happy with me at all. And Théodred? I could already imagine those blue eyes growing impossibly wide, full of shock and befuddlement.

"Saffi…" Éowyn took a wary step towards me.

I snapped out of my musings and focused. "Oh, no, I'm fine. I just realized—well, remembered—why Sodred's coming. And, if I'm right, then he most certainly made the right call: a Herald is definitely warranted."

Cenred blinked slowly. "Do I want to know? or should I wait for the Council meeting and be surprised with the rest of them?"

I bit my lip. "I think it would be better to wait and hear the news when it's been confirmed—and when we're all sitting down."

He considered this. "_Right_. I'd best be off, then. Princess Éowyn, Lady Sorenna," and then he was bustling away.

"And, I'm sorry, Éowyn," I hurriedly began before she could start interrogating me, "I really must speak to the Herald before I can say anything."

Her look towards me cooled slightly.

"What is it?"

"I don't like being kept in the dark, Saffi."

I shook my head. "I'm not keeping you in the dark. I just—I have a hunch right now, but until it's verified, I really don't think it's a good idea for me to share it with anyone. Don't want to go starting any riots. Well, not yet."

And on that cheery note, I hurried off into the Hall.

* * *

The herald waiting for me in one of the newly-renovated anterooms turned out to be a newly-trained Lyal, Ømund's younger brother. I hadn't known him very well back in Alricsloft, which meant that the meeting was pretty awkward from beginning to end. He kept shooting me odd looks the whole time; I think he was trying to figure out how a girl he'd never paid much attention to had won the affections of the King-to-be. Plus he was pretty shocked and frightened by his own news. The result was a lot of stilted sentences and one-word answers to my questions.

Once I'd finally gotten him to spill all the relevant details, I ended the meeting quickly and left him at table in the hall amongst the servants already up and breakfasting. Horse Lords, but I wished Théo were here. I didn't want to deal with this on my own. I didn't even know if I _could_ deal with this on my own (not like there was much choice). And it didn't seem right for such important negotiations to begin without him present. But there was nothing for it—even the best horses could only gallop so fast, and the most I could do was send a messenger to Gondor with the news and hope that the funeral procession wouldn't take its sweet time coming back.

So instead I went back to my rooms to get dressed and to figure out how exactly to break it to the Council that Arnalit, Prince of the Dunlendings (i.e. Our-Mortal-Enemies-For-Time-Out-of-Mind), Chieftain of the Draig-Lûth Tribe, Slayer of Countless Eorlingas, etc., etc., was going to be staying in Edoras for peace negotiations.

* * *

The day's Council had originally been planned to be a short one since there hadn't been any new developments in the State of the Mark since two days ago; the only things going on were just a whole lot of farming as well as the final repairs chugging along like usual. After very short position reports, the lords looked ready to break for an early luncheon.

I wondered whether or not I should have had Hildmar bring food here since I doubted we would be leaving soon like everyone else thought. Then again, maybe it was best they didn't have extra things to throw at me.

I stood and tried to look calm and confident. The normal murmuring stopped as the men began to catch on that this was something important. Both Elise and Éowyn looked at me speculatively, Éowyn because of this morning, Elise because she just always suspected me on principle.

"I am sure you are all aware of the recent treaty between ourselves and the Dunlendings," I began. There were nods around the chamber.

Elise caught on first. I knew the moment when it happened since her mouth actually dropped open. Thankfully Éothain quickly nudged her and she closed it immediately. —_Wait, Éothain? When did he start coming to meetings?_

Apparently my pause had caught everyone's attention. "In accordance with the terms of this treaty, a contingent of Dunlendings led by their leader himself, Prince Arnalit, now approaches Edoras accompanied by the Western Ambassador, and they should arrive five days from now. Théodred King is expected to return within the fortnight. Thus we only have to establish the negotiations, not actually open them. This time—a grace period, if you will—gives all of us, Eorlingas and Dunlendings alike, time to get to know one another. It speaks much to the Dunlendings' commitment to the treaty that their Lord himself comes, not just assigned diplomats. I hope we can all commit as wholeheartedly to these negotiations as they."

Maybe it was that sentence itself which pushed them over the edge—or maybe it was just that the initial shock had finally worn off right about then. Either way, the room erupted just as I finished speaking.

"The Chieftain himself—"

"Only a day's notice!—"

"_Dunlendings_—"

"YOU INVITED THIS, THIS _FILTH_ INTO OUR LANDS?" _Oh great_.

The room stilled as everyone turned towards the source of the outraged bellow. It was Lord Einar. He was not exactly the most kindly disposed toward Dunlendings. In his defense, they _had_ killed his two eldest sons. Of course, he had gone on a murderous rampage immediately beforehand, so the Dunlendings probably felt the same way about him.

Right now he had fixed a rather murderous gaze on me. "Well?" he demanded.

"As things stand, what we call a treaty is really just a flimsy truce," I answered, trying to keep my voice level despite a racing heartbeat. "It's an agreement to pause hostilities that is _contingent_ on our holding follow-up negotiations. So yes, I technically 'invited' the Dunlending leaders into our lands as part of the truce, and as a result they did not participate in the Battle of Helm's Deep—and have not taken part in any hostilities since then." I sat and glanced over toward Lord Oslac, who was one of Erkenbrand's friends and often represented his interests in Council.

Oslac briefly stood and verified my assertion (he wasn't much for speechmaking), which set the lords muttering again. I waited.

"What about the coronation?" Lord Cynulf demanded. "It will be difficult enough figuring out how to deal with the Gondorian delegation as well, but if the negotiations fall through… I understand that the treaty called for a meeting, but why now? I know you believe this chief is favorably disposed toward us, but what if he is not? or if among his party there are some from a tribe who do not agree? There could be much ill done at such an important time as Théoden King's burial and the coronation." It was not an unreasonable fear—if one assumed that the Dunlendings didn't at all wish for peace. Plus I was pretty sure that Arnalit wasn't nearly as stupid as to bring anyone who might even consider such acts.

Cynulf's speech was followed by a chorus of "aye"s, and several men rose to voice their agreement. I had to counter this. "As I said, the treaty in place right now is little more than a temporary cease, and it means _nothing_ without follow-up meetings, the very negotiations we are discussing now. And I can say from _personal_ experience that Prince Arnalit isn't the sort to bring belligerents to a meeting at which he has far more to lose than we." I sank back into my seat, my leg twitching with nervousness.

Cenred spoke next, casting a gimlet eye around the room before starting. "…I understand your concerns. And I admit that I share some of them. But let us face reality; the preliminary treaty is already made, and the chieftain on his way. We do not have to kowtow before them. We just have to be polite."

Elise shot up as soon as he finished, cutting off any potential naysayers. Many around the room leaned forward to hear what such an unknown had to say; a few looked skeptical that the Adviser on trade could have anything worthwhile to say about politics. She began bluntly in direct continuation of Cenred's point. "My lords, the Mark is in a position of strength at these negotiations, and the Dunlendings know it. What we have right now is the opportunity to not just strike back at the threat they pose but rather eliminate it once and for all. And not through wanton slaughter, killing innocent babes in fear of what they might one day grow up to be, but rather to join our peoples so that the Dunlendings will never _want_ to make war. So that our countries' merchants will have price wars instead of real ones."

There was a long moment while she let the words sink in. I looked around to judge reactions.

Einar made to rise; Oslac leaned around the two men in between them and laid a restraining hand on Einar's arm. They shared a long look before Einar acquiesced and sat back. Instead Cynulf broke the silence without getting up.

"Lady Sorenna—you are the only person in this room who has actually spoken with this Prince Arnalit. I do not doubt your word, my lady; but surely you understand how difficult it is for me, for many of us, to go forward when we are, in effect, riding blind."

I leaned forward across the table, reaching forward slightly. "Lord Cynulf, I know how difficult it is. But I sincerely believe—I _know_—that we can do this."

He held my gaze. I was tense as a bowstring but did my best not to let it show. Then, after what seemed an eternity, Cynulf bent his head towards me stiffly. "Do you believe there should be particular …entertainments for our guests?"

"I am not entirely sure," I said cautiously. "My impression of Arnalit does not lead me to believe that he would particularly enjoy over-the-top programming, not to mention that such activities aren't really feasible for us right now anyway. But I am less than experienced in matters of high state. I am sure you lords most likely have an idea of fitting activities."

Cynulf bowed slightly in acknowledgment of my olive branch. Einar was still staring at the floor with an unreadable expression.

After a long moment of silence, Cenred inquired a bit drily whether anyone else had an important announcement to make. Hearing a chorus of emphatic _no_s, the Council meeting adjourned at last, with half of the lords (Einar included) rushing out of the chamber and the rest going more slowly than usual as if still somewhat stunned by the news.

* * *

I was dawdling in the corridor in order to wait up for Elise when Éowyn tapped me on the arm. I looked up.

"I can see why you did not want to say anything this morning before getting confirmation," she said.

I nodded. For some reason I felt slightly dizzy.

"I hope—_Béma_, Saffi, starting out Queenship with a bang!" She was staring at me with absolute seriousness. "You do realize that you have just staked your entire reputation on these negotiations?"

"I had some idea, yeah," I muttered. In fact I had all too good a comprehension of just how much was riding on these negotiations. If they fell through, or if anything untoward happened, then whatever political credibility I might have gained from the original treaty would be nothing better than a stinking pile of horse poo. Worse, it would most likely cause a loss of support for Théodred.

As the full ramifications sank in, I tried to figure out if there had been any way to prevent this. Nothing came to mind except perhaps _not_ making the treaty with Arnalit, and there was no way I wouldn't do that again. _A curse on Arnalit for taking his own initiative_, I thought and then couldn't help but smile crookedly at my own failed logic. There was no way to control Arnalit, and hadn't I just been agreeing with his reasoning only a few hours ago?

There was nothing left but to hope for the best. Well, that and prepare the best guest rooms we had to offer. Then I thought about how Hildmar was going to take the news and winced.

* * *

The hot summer sun beat down on us, soaking into my hair and making me want to throw back my head to better absorb its warmth. Down below on the sun-baked plains grain waved gently as far as the eye could see, the undulations slightly distorted by the haze of heat. Knowing firsthand just how hot it could get down there, I wondered whether Brego had decided to build here on top of the mountain not for any security reasons but simply to escape the summer heat.

I was _so_ glad that we were awaiting Arnalit at Meduseld and not riding to meet him down in the heat, especially with this stupid circlet thing that everyone had insisted I wear. Even Einar had perked up when he first saw it, but I personally didn't see what the big deal was since it was brand-new. Apparently Théodred was the first ever of our rulers to not have gotten married before becoming King, so there had never before been a need for some sort of special jewelry for the King's Betrothéd to wear. I had to admit that it was a nice circlet—plain silver with no ornamentation, identical to Éowyn's except that hers was gold—but it still felt odd, as though I were just a little girl playing dress up in someone else's clothes.

A murmur through the small crowd below, lining the roadway to Meduseld's steps, brought me out of my musings, and I strained to make out anything in the haze on the plain. And sure enough, those black dots were now sharpening into actual figures, namely a band of riders about 15-20 strong. My stomach decided now was the time to start doing flips, not aided by the fact that Éowyn decided it was a good time to remark offhand, "Well, at least_you_ look calm, Saffi…"

I sure didn't feel calm. I felt horrible. What if this was all a terrible mistake? What if I completely failed and somehow we ended up doing something stupid like granting the entire Westfold to the Dunlendings? What if Einar and Arnalit got into a fistfight? Worse, what if Théo and Arnalit got into a fistfight?

I could feel people shifting around behind me. At first I thought it was just because everyone was putting on their best Official Stance, but then I realized they'd been making room for someone to get through: namely, Elise. She grabbed my left hand with hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Listen, Saffi, _Sodred_'s coming with them. So whenever things get tense, we can just throw him in there and confuse everybody into cooperation!" I couldn't help but giggle a bit at this, especially since a few years ago it hadn't been unknown for Father to do exactly that whenever us kids were about to start fighting.

At Éowyn's sharp look I immediately sobered up. Elise let go of my hand, her work done, and I stood up a bit straighter, my confidence back. _We can do this. Béma be willing…_

Watching them ride the long, long track up the mountainside was agonizing, so after a bit I stopped looking at them and instead focused on a spot of grass about twenty feet away from the steps (so as to seem as if I really were looking at them when they arrived). It seemed like I had forever to stare at that grass.

And then suddenly there they were. My gaze latched onto Sodred first. He looked brown and healthy and as rosy as usual, and, perhaps most important of all, he seemed to be genuinely smiling. We made eye contact, and his smile widened into a full blinding grin. I felt Elise relax next to me.

Directly on Sodred's right came Arnalit. He looked better than when I'd last seen him—although that wasn't really saying much seeing as he'd been all bandaged and barely even walking. But now he looked bronzed, clean, and very well-dressed. He, along with the rest of his men (I counted eleven, including Gwyddon), looked at us curiously but with no apparent hostility. Arnalit's gaze flitted from face to face, resting on Elise, noting Éowyn, and then settling on me. I

could tell the exact moment when he recognized me: his eyes widened comically, and his mouth actually dropped open for a good five seconds. Then he blinked and looked again. I gave a little wave. I couldn't see very well from this distance, but I think one of his eyes might have twitched very briefly. Then he shot Sodred an exceedingly accusatory glare. It seemed being Ambassador and Headman hadn't much changed my brother; he had always been a little too fond of the dramatic reveal.

I hurriedly wiped the smirk off my face and began to carefully make my way down the steps—carefully, not because the steps were tricky or anything, but in order to go at just the right speed, not too fast (to show I was in control of the situation) and not too slow (since that would be rude). I stopped on the third step from the bottom, and my smaller entourage (Éowyn, Cenred, and Eadric) halted right behind me.

We only had to wait for about three seconds before the group arrived. They looked hot. Even the horses looked hot. But heat notwithstanding, Sodred hopped down immediately, bouncy as ever, right ahead of the stable hands who arrived to take the mounts. He was still grinning infectiously, and I couldn't help but shoot him a grin in response before relaxing into (what I hoped was) a welcoming smile.

"Princess Éowyn, King's Betrothéd Saffi, Lord Cenred: may I present Arnalit, Prince of the Dunlendings and Chieftain of the Draig-Lûth Tribe," Sodred announced in Westron with a very proper flourish. I blinked (when did he learn manners?) and smiled at all of Arnalit's men.

"Well met Prince Arnalit, my lords," I spoke the ritual greeting. "Welcome to Edoras, and welcome to our Hall."

"Thank you, Lady Saffi," Arnalit drawled, apparently over his shock (at least for now). "We are most grateful for such hospitality."

According to Lord Oslac the next appropriate move would have been to haughtily raise the back of my hand to be kissed, but somehow I managed to immediately forget all my etiquette lessons. Instead I instinctively put out my hand to clasp arms like soldiers would, as equals. This made Arnalit smile, which was good since it made him actually look like a decent person.

He introduced his companions—Gwyddon, two chieftains, four of his elite personal guard, and five lords—and then we accompanied them up the stairs. We'd barely made it halfway up before Arnalit turned to me and muttered accusatorily, "_So_... you just _know_ King Théodred, huh?"

I grinned. "Well, I _do_ know him. Very well, in fact."

He shook his head mournfully. "Alas, if only I'd known then! I could have gotten a king's ransom—literally! And instead we let you two ride away free as the birds, just like that…"

From behind us came a slight choking noise. It sounded suspiciously like Cenred. At that Arnalit's mouth twitched; he seemed to be trying very hard not to smirk. I felt torn between disproving of Arnalit's behavior and wholeheartedly agreeing with the sentiment.

Yes, it sure was going to be a fun month… When was Théodred supposed to get back again?

* * *

A/N: Going by the appendices/lotr wikia, every single ruler of Rohan had one or more son born before their reigns began. So unless the kings of Rohan _all_ had a bunch of kids out of wedlock and then declared them legitimate (not individually impossible but still rather unlikely), then every single one of them up until Éomer got married before becoming king. I was actually kinda hoping that Théodred wouldn't be the odd man out, but alas, no such luck.

Also, I searched and searched (read: went past page 2 on Google) but couldn't find any 'legit' Welsh tribe names (well, there's a bunch from the Roman period, but they all sound very Latin and un-Middle Earth-y), so finally I went with one of the tribe names used in LOTRO, which I've never even considered playing but apparently has whole tomes of world info. way beyond anything Tolkien ever put to paper. According to the LOTRO wiki I found it on, the tribe name _Draig-Lûth_ means 'dragon.' I think Arnalit would approve.


End file.
